


Ready for the Punchline

by Becky2309, Breathing2nd



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Can't tag for shit, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Implied Relationships, Lost Love, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky2309/pseuds/Becky2309, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breathing2nd/pseuds/Breathing2nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a simple dalish elf, Idrilla has her fair share of bad luck. Luckily she has her best friend, and lover along the way, waiting for the inevitable punchline Varric likes to talk about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So my amazing friend, Breathing2nd, encouraged me to write this fic. Maybe due to me being annoying... anywho, I'm happy you managed to stumble upon my little fic which for some reason I've decided to include; m/m, f/m, and f/f relationships, because I'm a phsycopath to try and keep up with all that... besides, they won't appear straight away but please be patient. I don't intend to offend anyone and, obviously, I don't own any of the characters, Bioware did a real good job creating them so they can keep 'em. 
> 
> Whoever decides to take the time out of their day to read this, I love you in advance *smoochy noises*

Idrilla Lavellan’s head rose from her desk, scattered with reports, as the incessant knocking continued at her door. She asked for one bell of privacy and the advisors simply couldn’t give her that; unless it was a scout with another report to add to the already monstrous pile. Now  _that_ would annoy her.

As she made her way down the stairs and opened the door, the last person she expected to see was the Commander.

“Cullen, why are you still at the door? You know you can enter if it’s unlocked.” She smiled genuinely, but it fell when her eye’s met his grim face.

“Your presence is required in the war room, Inquisitor.” He muttered, but she knew he wasn’t acting his normal self. This wasn’t her friend, Cullen, speaking; this was _the_  Commander.

“What’s going on? You're my friend, you don't need to be so formal.”

“Y… you need to be with more than just me for this news, Idrilla.” He reached his hand out to grasp Idrilla’s and tugged her into a gentle trot to follow him.

Idrilla felt the blood drain from her face as Cullen held her hand; it was well known that he wasn’t one for physical contact, so the small act made Idrilla’s heart sink. The too tight hold of the Commander’s grip served as a good distraction for her anxious thoughts, yet the gentle crease of worry between his brows sent her mind reeling.

Cullen was a man on a mission, shooing nobles and the like out of their way as they approached the war room. As they passed Josephine’s desk she was nowhere to be seen. Idrilla reasoned that she must have already made her way to the war room, not wanting to admit how much the absence added to her concern.

She pushed her meagre weight against the heavy war room door and was slightly pleased to find her theory correct, but it was short lived since she hadn’t expected Dorian and Sera to be there in addition to the normal advisors.

“Okay, what is going on? Don’t tell me my shoulder almost got dislocated for nothing.” Idrilla’s eye’s flicked to Dorian but he showed nothing but grief as he walked to stand in front of the short elf.

Idrilla had been taught her entire life to fear the shemlen. The horror stories her clansmen would share often ended in the children being kidnapped and forced into slavery. Dorian, however, was different; Idrilla would go as far as to consider him family. It was unfortunate for him to have everyone, including Sera, to agree that he should be the one to be the bearer of bad news since he was her closest friend.

“ _Ma aureum,_ Josephine had the preposterous idea to deliver this news in a report, but such a thing should be dealt with delicately so I had to intervene.” Idrilla’s golden eyes pierced into Dorian, making him falter slightly.

“ _Fenedhis_ , spit it out! What’s happened, Dorian?” Idrilla continued to glare but the worry etched on her face caused her vallaslin to crease.

“It’s your clan, Idrilla. The Duke was meant to help but he was too late. The mercenaries that attacked your clan were ruthless. They’re… gone.”

“No… you’re lying! That can’t be true!” Idrilla managed to mutter in defiance as she met the other eyes all focused on her, searching for confirmation.

Tears began to flow as she realised it was all true, and couldn’t bring herself to stand before her fellow advisors any longer as her strong demeanour as the Inquisitor quickly began to fail. She hastily accepted the report from Dorian, fleeing from the room to leave several sombre faces in her wake.

“Well, guess it went better than expected dint it fancy pants?” Sera declared as she hopped off the table, disrupting a few pins, making Josephine wince. “Thought Shiny would’ve turned you to a lump of ice.” She snorted at the thought before leaving the room.

Idrilla had made her way to the dungeon unintentionally, yet relished in the openness the missing wall had provided. She dismissed the guard after promising they wouldn’t be reprimanded, and as soon as Idrilla was alone she released her sorrow in the only way she knew how.

The onslaught of spells to the endless roll of mountains did nothing to relieve her misery, and she fell to her knees with remorse.

_Not a single survivor._

She had read Josephine’s report until her eyes began to clear of tears, ready to make an encore, until she stilled as she felt another presence in the room. Idrilla was ready to shout at the guard for re-entering until she assumed one of her advisors must have found her.

“I am really not in the mood right now for any reports, Cullen. Or Leliana... _whoever _you are. Please leave me be and I will come to the war room when I am ready.”__

____

____

“Well, it’s a good job I arrive with a serious lack of feathers, isn’t it? Or a menacing glare. Nor poofy sleeves.” Idrilla turned to see Dorian’s solemn smile, with the ridiculous moustache straining to comply. The gesture would have normally made Idrilla laugh, but it only made her walls crumble at the sight of her friend.

“They’re all... _dead. _My parents. My brother. _Isala_. I know Keeper Istimaethoriel and I never saw eye to eye but I mourn even her loss.” Idrilla’s shoulders began to quake once more and the inevitable flow of tears made a return.__

____

____

“ _Falon'din ghi'la esh'ala eth._ ” Idrilla whispered through the tears.

Dorian moved effortlessly towards his fragile friend and made to sit at her side on the floor before Idrilla moved to stop him. 

“No! Dorian, your clothes. If you sit they’ll be ruined.” Idrilla started to cry harder with the thought and Dorian moved quicker to comfort her.

“They are only clothes; I am not afraid of some filth. I braved the Fallow Mire, did I not?” He smirked at the small smile on Idrilla’s lips. “However, the incomplete infrastructure of this hovel is far more disconcerting.” He screwed his nose in disgust as he pulled Idrilla into his lap, stroking her hair in comfort.

“What did you say just then? In Elven.” Dorian asked, mainly for a distraction.

“I asked for Falon’din to guide them safely. It’s a way to offer condolence.”

Dorian nodded his understanding and hugged Idrilla closer.

“Y’know, if your father saw you now he’d probably collapse and think they’d made a breakthrough.”

Dorian smirked at the thought. “My father may faint from the simple act of showing affection. Perish the thought that one would want to comfort a friend in need.” Idrilla snuggled her head into the Altus’ shoulder and sighed.

“I should have done  _more._  It is bad that I miss my brother and Isala the most? Silvhen… he should have  _lived_. He should have been the one sent to spy at the conclave, then he’d be- “

“Stop right there.” Dorian cut her off and her wayward thoughts. “You don’t know if anyone survived. He could have escaped. They both could have.”

Idrilla pondered for a moment and sighed.

“It was a  _massacre_ ; they were hardly able to identify any of the people. I guess that supports your theory, though I can’t say I’m holding out hope.”

The two mages spend the last hours of sunlight in the dungeon, foregoing any plans of an evening meal in favour of the expensive wine Dorian procured. Acquiring more when the first bottle had run out. They stayed in the same position until Idrilla could hear a repetitive clicking noise.

“Dorian, is that your teeth chattering?” She gazed at him as he began to shiver.

“Of course I am! I’m not like you savages who can withstand freezing temperatures. We are on a bloody mountain, or do you forget?” Idrilla let out a hearty laugh which thawed Dorian slightly with its warmth.

“You should have said, I’m emotionally compromised. Come along my precious ‘vint, we don’t want the finest mage in all of Thedas to get frostbite.”

“Finally, some well-deserved recognition. Thank you for noticing Inquisitor.” Idrilla punched the mage’s arm before ascending to her feet, both in need of tea and the luck to fall effortlessly into a Fadeless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out Idrilla Lavellen has some pretty amazing friends.

Idrilla’s eyes shot open the next morning as the rays of sunlight urged their way through a tiny gap left in the curtains, her hands failing to block the insistent intrusion. She groaned as her mind caught up with her body, finally comprehending the stifling headache forming at her temples and the swelling that circled her eyes.

The memories of the night before came flooding back and Idrilla found it difficult to breathe, almost breaking into a panic attack before a tanned arm appeared from her side and pulled her close in an almost crushing hug.

“People will start getting ideas if you continue to share my quarters, Dorian.” Idrilla quirked as she turned to see the dishevelled mage rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What, that I am trying to steal your soul in your sleep? How scandalous. However, it would be unfair to deny you of my beauty in the morning,” He ducked the inevitable strike Idrilla would throw at his relentless bullying, “Alas, I find your taste in decoration vastly austere. I do hope those curtains were in here already and you didn’t _choose_ them.”

“I didn’t choose them, but they keep the sun out _when_ I close them properly. And I can’t say I really care what people think, I’m glad you’re here,” Idrilla looked at the mage and sighed “My friends in Skyhold are all I have left, _you’re_ my clan now.”

The rest of the morning was spent with Dorian divulging truly boring facts on why Idrilla should at least _look_ at The Way of the Necromancer and failing miserably at convincing her to collect nevarran skulls for the rite, yet the distraction was more than welcome.

By midday, the inquisitor felt she was ready to venture outside, mainly since her stomach hadn’t stopped complaining from the lack of nourishment and she couldn’t find it in her to ask a servant to retrieve any food.

Before leaving the room, Idrilla looked into the mirror to find the reflection she saw a complete stranger; yet the golden eyes and ghilan'nain’s vallaslin were enough to convince her that she was, in fact, seeing herself. Her normally peachy completion had been drained of its colour and the bags below her eyes had trebled in size, it was at that moment she wished she followed the Orlesian tradition of wearing masks. She sighed, annoyed with her appearance and quickly braided the side of her hair before leaving for the tavern.

After the tenth noble had offered their condolence, Idrilla was ready to run back to her room, yet Dorian was persistent and forced her to walk the rest of the way to the tavern. Upon entering she found the entire room empty aside from her inner circle, all wearing faces of sympathy which didn’t make Idrilla want to sprint in the opposite direction. She walked further into the room to be pounced on by Sera, holding a tray of familiar looking treats.

“Sera, you made me hearth cakes? How on earth did you know about them?”

“Good innit? First Dalish thing I’ve tried that don’t taste like shite.” Sera offered a lopsided grin and thrust the plate of cakes into her face.

“Aching. Searching. What if they live?”

“Thanks for the input Cole.” Dorian scolded.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t help did I?” Cole’s head fell, the enormous brim of his hat covering his innocent face.

“Now I know that’s a lie, Cole. Who else would have known to tell Sera about hearth cakes?” Idrilla reasoned and noticed the small smile on Cole’s face as she took one of the sweet treats.

“Yeah, yeah. I still _made_ them, Shiny.” Sera whined but offered the plate of goodies to the others in the room before sitting down, scoffing the rest.

“Look Goldy, we all know what’s happened so we’re here to help any way we can. Talk about it or ignore it, either way, we wanted you to know we’re _here_.” Varric announced, his no-nonsense wisdom instantly put Idrilla at ease, reminding her of her father.

Iron Bull sauntered over and brought the tiny elf into a one armed hug. “Let’s go dragon hunting, Boss. It might make you feel better.” Idrilla nodded her agreement.

“Is that offer purely for my benefit, or do you just _really_ want to go dragon hunting?”

Bull made the awkward gesture of winking, which could have been blinking if not for the gentle nod that accompanied it. “Caught red handed. You know me too well, Boss.”

Idrilla stifled a laugh as she made to look at all the people in the room. Some of them would rather stick forks in their eyes than be in the same space as each other, yet they put aside their differences for _her_ , and the fact was humbling.

“Darling, if you continue to eat like that I’m certain you will choke.” Vivienne’s voice cut through Idrilla’s thoughts as she reprimanded Sera.

“I’ve got Shiny ‘ere to revive me, I _trust_ her.” Sera smirked, winking at the inquisitor before continuing to eat like she’d been starved.  

“ _Ir abelas sul mar laimasha, da’len_.” Solas offered.

“ _Ma serannas, Hahren._ ” Idrilla offered a small smile in return, she was always respectful to Solas, yet she couldn’t deny that she found the man down right _weird_.

She continued into the room to join the rest of the party as she noticed the familiar cards on the table.

“How about a game of wicked grace? _Hopefully_ , the commander will lose all his clothes to Josephine again.” Dorian announced, receiving a roll of laughter and the inevitable blush on the commander’s cheeks

“Maker’s breath, I shall not be partaking in any games, yet I shall observe to at least improve my strategy.” The commander continued to redden as he raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

Solas and Vivienne also declared that they would not partake and the game quickly took place, managing to spread over the next few hours with barmaids occasionally entering to refill drinks and to offer nibbles.

“So, Boss. About this dragon hunting thing. Is it one of those things that you say will happen, but never will?” Iron Bull smiled as Idrilla scowled at him.

“Tomorrow. Have the normal party and yourself ready by sunrise and we’ll put your skills to the test.” Iron Bull blanched before a wide grin plastered his face.

“ _Seriously_? Fuck yeah!” Bull stood, sending the table forward a few feet, spilling drinks in the process, “Get some sleep, team. You’re going to need it.” Iron Bull patted Idrilla on her head before leaving the tavern.

“Inquisitor, you’ll be happy to know I have cleared your schedule for the next two weeks, so this voyage of yours shall not be detrimental to the inquisition. I do hope this will help you, and please stay safe.” Josephine offered a small smile as she too departed.

The tavern quickly emptied after the dragon hunting expedition had been approved, leaving Idrilla, Sera and Dorian, all still drinking.

“So, who’s this Isala then? I’ve heard you’ve mentioned her before but never went into detail.” Dorian questioned.

“She’s pretty much the reason why I don’t like guys.” Idrilla offered in her drunkenness.

“No way! Her Gracious Lady bits and Hero o’Fereldy got it on?” Sera snickered.

“What? No! She’s practically family, that’s _gross_. The stories she would tell me about our dear commander, Cullen, were enough to put me off men for life,” Idrilla shook her head at the memory, “Even if he was a lovesick puppy most of the time.”

Dorian choked on his drink. “You mean to tell me that this surrogate elder sister of yours is the reason why Cullen won’t even look at another woman twice? The man is still infatuated with her.” Dorian baulked at the news.

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think I haven’t told him? You both must keep this to yourself, I am _trusting_ you.” Idrilla implored.

Dorian and Sera nodded their understanding “How did she come to be in your clan? I thought she became a warden?” Dorian asked.

“I was nine when she came to us. After she became a warden she travelled for a few years and found my clan, she was city born but her family was Dalish so I guess she wanted to learn about her heritage and stayed with us. She taught me everything I know about magic and practically raised me with the help of my brother. I love my parents, but I owe my upbringing to them.”

The mood in the tavern shifted as Sera suddenly rose to her feet.

“Come on Shiny, I’m sure Fancy Pants won’t mind me stealin’ you for t’night.” Sera’s cheeky grin made Idrilla’s cheeks warm as she made to stand.

“Dorian, you can stay in my quarters tonight. Or see if Bull is still awake.” Idrilla let out a hearty laugh at Dorian’s expression.

“I am choosing to ignore that comment, Inquisitor.” Dorian tipped his head in farewell and left the tavern.

“I made cookies, we’ll eat ‘em till we feel sick and fall asleep. Someone said we’d go dragon huntin’ tomorrow.”

Idrilla smiled at the elf and kissed her lightly, “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Sera blushed even though she wouldn’t admit it, following the inquisitor up the staircase to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas sul mar laimasha, da’len: I am sorry for your loss, Child  
> Ma serannas, Hahren: My thanks, Elder


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go dragon hunting!

The next morning Idrilla awoke, her temples humming with the threat of a headache. The pain was forgotten as she focused on her surroundings; and the naked blonde elf who was wrapped around her like Rashvine.

It was moments like this that Idrilla loved; to catch the defensive and reclusive elf asleep was incredibly rare. This way she could just _admire_ her without any of the protests. She pushed away the sleep-mused blonde hair and kissed Sera’s forehead, startling the rouge awake as she muttered her annoyance at being caught off guard.

“Good morning to you too,” Idrilla smirked.

“Shut it, you! You wake me up being mushy, but we have to go friggin’ dragon hunting.” Sera pouted.

Idrilla giggled and stood to get dressed, pausing when trying to find her underwear. She lifted her head to find Sera already staring with a shit-eating grin.

She had _hidden_ them.

Idrilla sighed in defeat, dressing in the remainder of her clothing, playing along with her trickster girlfriend’s game. The lovers took their time getting ready and still made it to the stables before Iron Bull and Dorian.

“Do you suppose the Qunari and the Tevinter found _company_ in each other last night?” Cassandra asked as the two elves approached.

“My _my_ , our dear seeker is a _gossip_ ,” Idrilla teased, laughing when Cassandra’s face fell in horror, “I’m joking Cass. I don’t think they’ve gotten to that point, _yet_.”

Cassandra grumbled at being made fun of, yet couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile on her face. The rest of the party arrived soon after, looking better than they deserved considering the night of drinking; choosing not to divulge any details of the previous night.

Crestwood was a beautiful place if the wolfs, Templar and demons could be ignored. Luckily, a lot of trouble had already been cleared out so their journey to the Three Trout Pond camp happened to be relatively stress-free. Idrilla adored the feeling of the wind whistling past her as they weaved through the topography and troublesome rocks, the hooves of her steed crunching the twig riddled floor as it cantered happily.

“So, you and the boss huh?” Iron Bull remarked, breaking Idrilla from her trance.

“I know, right?” Sera gave a sideward glance to Iron Bull before focusing ahead.

Iron Bull laughed, “Didn't think you were the kind to bed your way to power.”

“ _Power_ bed its way to me. Big _beautiful_ difference.” Sera corrected.

“You tell him! _Love you too_.” Idrilla confirmed, grinning from ear to ear.

Sera giggled, _“See_?”

“I stand corrected.” Iron Bull conceded.

Cassandra grunted her annoyance, “Camp is ahead, we shall leave the horses there and proceed to the Northern Hunter.”

The party of five arrived at the camp nestled between the parting hills moments later and gave their horses to the officers to tend to, the relative safety the private camp offered set Idrilla’s mind at ease.

Her steed was as important to her as Varric’s crossbow, Bianca, was to him. She hated to see her Red Hart, _Ashavise_ , be left in risky situations. She felt the creature and herself were kindred spirits, both rebellious and proud, that’s why she had chosen such an animal to be her steed. The fiery red fur and the wide expanse of antlers on the hart gave purpose to the name Idrilla had chosen, meaning _fire woman._

Idrilla gave Ashavise one final pat on the ear before she pressed forward with the rest of the group, on foot, to find the dragon’s home.

“Why the eff is there half eaten wheels of cheese?” Sera complained after tripping over the third one.

“The Northern Hunter is a voracious eater; it will eat anything from nugs to cheese. I don’t doubt for a second that it wouldn’t think twice about eating _us_.” Cassandra answered deadpan.

“I’m far too dashing to be eaten.” Dorian sulked.

The party continued down the path seeing the vast expanse of land unhabituated aside from the odd Fennec that found a stick particularly interesting. Idrilla was about to speak until the atmosphere shifted suddenly, the lightness of day shaded by a figure in the sky.

“Today is a good day. Today is a  _very_  good day.” Iron Bull stated, alerting the party of the high dragon circling above.

“Oh, look- a _dragon_. What a perfect way to ruin our day.” Dorian complained.

“We are dragon hunting, _Dorian_.” Idrilla reasoned sarcastically.

Dorian rolled his eyes, “Perhaps I thought we’d be lucky enough to not find the animal.”

“She sees us!” Sera shouted, withdrawing her bow preparing to fight.

The moment the rest of the party withdrew their weapons the Northern Hunter breathed an electricity bolt, narrowly missing Iron Bull.

“Oh, would you look at that! That is  _magnificent_! Iron Bull screamed in delight.

“Stop romancing the bloody thing and get fighting!” Dorian reprimanded before throwing an equally devastating fire bolt back towards the beast.

***

The party worked valiantly and efficiently, bringing the high dragon down with relative ease.

Iron Bull was the most animated as the beast breathed her last, “Would you mind me staying for a moment, Boss? I need to appreciate this.”

Although Idrilla knew hardly anything about the Qunari, or their heritage, she did know that dragons were highly respected creatures and she decided not to question his actions, nor want to pry.

“Of course, Bull. Dorian, Sera and I will head back to camp and Cassandra will stay with you to accompany you back. I imagine she could tell you lots of things about dragons.” Idrilla reasoned, knowing Cassandra’s family were famous for dragon hunting.

Cassandra rolled her eyes in defeat, “If I have to stay and entertain Bull with stories so be it.”

Iron Bull smiled in gratitude for the understanding and Idrilla turned to walk back to camp.

“Big heroes, us. That was... that was _great_.” Sera panted as she sprinted to follow the two mages.

“Yes, yes. It _was_ quite exhilarating. Yet I can’t seem to shake this feeling of unease.” Dorian quipped with a brow arched in concern.

Idrilla stilled as they passed Linden Farm, bringing the party to a stop. The vast land of stone-strewn ground appeared empty, aside from the precarious looking barn and bridge in the distance. The odd druffulo grunted their disapproval at being scattered but _nothing_ seemed particularly out of place.

Idrilla heard a ruffle of leaves before a sense of unease washed over her.

“ _Something_ is not right,” Idrilla whispered.  

Before Idrilla could act a flurry of movement moved from the bushes as a cloaked figure materialised behind Dorian, pulling him flush against his chest, holding a dagger to his throat.

“Move an inch and this shem _will_ die.” The hurried and harsh words of the assassin spat out.

The assassin’s red blade threatened to slice cleanly through the tanned flesh of Dorian’s neck as it began to nip his skin. The sheer fear in Dorian’s eyes was something she was unfamiliar with; _he_ was always the confident one. Idrilla couldn't move at all, never mind the _inch_ the assassin threatened. Yet she couldn’t help but find the assassin’s voice familiar, if not slightly rough with over use. The hair colour was also familiar; baring a striking resemblance to her own if not for the grime that adorned it.  

As matching golden eyes met, the blade pressed against Dorian’s throat was soon forgotten as it fell to the floor, with the assassin pushing him out of the way to approach the inquisitor.

“Silvhen? Y… You’re alive?” Idrilla managed to spit out before she was overcome with tears, throwing herself at her brother to share a bruising hug.

“ _Da’len_ , you’re here. But how?” Her brother was just as dumbstruck as she was, crushing her arms in his hands as he stared at the smaller elf.

“I… the dragon. We came to hunt it.” Idrilla spluttered.

“ _You_ killed _that_?” Silvhen queried, awestruck.

“A joint effort really, but that’s beside the point. You’re alive!”

Idrilla was a mess of emotion; flitting between surprise, elation, and sorrow. Idrilla’s head was still buried in her brother’s neck as she heard the familiar annoyed cough behind her.

Idrilla turned her head, sniffing to see Dorian’s incredulous glare, “Care to introduce me to the man who almost lopped my head off?”

Silvhen glared at Dorian, “You’re lucky I didn’t, _shem_.”

“Woah, calm down, Silvhen!” Idrilla interrupted, placing a hand on his arm to stop him advancing, “Stop being so pig headed. If it wasn’t for this man I would probably be dead. He has never once called me a _knife-ear_ , so give him the same courtesy.”

Silvhen had the decency to look chastened, “I apologise,” he walked towards Dorian, offering his hand reluctantly, “I’m Silvhen.”

Dorian was cautious at first, yet shook the elf’s proffered hand, “Altus Dorian Pavus, the pleasure is yours, obviously.”

Silvhen snickered but winced when he saw the thin line of blood on the mage’s neck.

He turned to Sera, to find the small elf already staring at him “And you might be?”

Sera snorted, “I’m with her, get it? _With_ her,” Sera made smooching noises for good measure, “but if names are needed, I’m Sera. Be an arse and you get an arrow _in_ your arse.”

Silvhen shot an incredulous stare at his sister, “She’s… Charming.”

“Frig off.” Sera muttered in defence.

“Introductions aside, tell me what happened. I don't care if you hid or ran away instead of fighting, I only care that you're alive and I still have a small part of my clan-” Idrilla’s eyes widened as realisation hit her, “Isala? _What_ happened to Isala?”

Silvhen was just about to answer before they heard the familiar cry of Cassandra behind them.

“Inquisitor! Is this man dangerous?” Cassandra’s voice echoed through the air as she neared the group.

“He’s fine, Cass. This is my brother, Silvhen.” Idrilla spoke with pride.

Cassandra was speechless for a fleeting moment, “Glad to hear that you survived. Inquisitor, there is something you should see. Or should I say _someone_ ,” Cassandra turned, making Idrilla follow, “Bull and I was searching the ruin and we came across an elf with vallaslin, she isn’t responsive and thought you could help.”

As the two women walked towards the hill, the infamous horns of Iron Bull appeared, and he was holding a familiar elf in his arms. Idrilla’s eyes widened in fear as she realised who the Qunari was holding.

“Isala!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the Hero of Ferelden, Isala Surana; the old flame of our dear Commander, Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to pay homage to my absolutely amazing friend Breathing2nd, I decided I couldn't romance Cullen in my playthrough as I feel like she already has dibs. Therefore I decided to incorporate her character as the Hero of Ferelden, as a thank you but also because I wanted to play with the idea of Cullen seeing his teenage fantasy girl again :D

“Put her down here, please,” Idrilla sputtered through tears as she saw her friend barely alive, “What happened?”

“We found her like this Boss, she came around for a moment but passed out again.”

“Do either of you know who this is?” Idrilla asked as she soothed healing magic across the small elf.

“ _Should_ we?” Bull asked.

Idrilla rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief, “You both just _saved_ the Hero of Ferelden.”

Both warrior’s eyes widened in surprise, before Isala murmured something incoherently, bolting upright into a sitting position on the dusty ground.

“W…Where am I?” Isala panted before her eyes met her stand-in sister, “Idrilla?”

Idrilla cried as she pulled Isala into a crushing hug, the shock of finding her alive, but also on the verge of death played hard with her emotions.

“You’re here! You’re alive! You,” Idrilla pulled back and her eyes widened, “You have vallaslin!”

Idrilla moved her fingertips to the fresh vallaslin that adorned Isala’s face, tracing the lines.

“We _match_.” Idrilla murmured as tears welled in her eyes again.

Idrilla helped the weak elf to her feet and brought her into another crushing hug, testing to see if she was there and not a figment of her imagination. She never thought for one second Silvhen would live, but Isala too? Both survivals were a _miracle_.

The comforting squeeze of her older sister brought Idrilla back into the moment and she smiled looking at Isala. Ghilan'nain’s vallaslin was barely visible with its light powder blue hue framing her youthful face, a flawless embellishment to her intensely light blonde hair that fell behind her back in a loose braid. Isala’s piercing blue eyes began to fill and a stray tear fell down her cheek.

“Our clan accepted me fully,” Isala croaked thoughtfully, “they gave me the choice to take the blood rite, and I accepted.”

The pride was thick in Isala’s voice and it filled Idrilla with warmth, she turned towards the other party members, pulling Isala’s arm around her shoulders to support the weak elf.

“Isala, let me introduce you to Dorian. He’s practically family now, too.”

Dorian flashed a toothy smile, oozing charm. “Pleasure to meet you, Isala.”

Isala smiled at the flamboyant mage and decided she liked him, the air of arrogance that surrounded him wasn’t too off putting. Idrilla made quick work introducing the rest of the party, taking particular time introducing Sera.

“Thanks for tellin’ Shiny all those stories about Cully Wully, she’d never have liked _me_ if you didn’t.”

Idrilla eye’s widened in shock as Sera realised what she said.

“Pissin’ shit! You didn’t say we’d have to keep it from her too! Just Cullen-Wullen.” Sera huffed in defiance.

Idrilla slapped her palm to her forehead in defeat, “You didn’t have to say his name, Sera!”

“Cullen? You mean- _my_ Cullen?” Isala inquired, not believing what she was hearing.

“ _Maybe_ …,” Idrilla cleared her throat, “ _your_ Templar, Cullen, is now the Commander of the Inquisition…” Idrilla waited for the scolding she’d receive, yet it never came.

She turned to faced Isala who was expressionless for a moment, then a reminiscent smile soon graced her face.

“Oh, that’s... _Enlightening_.”

Isala was transported back to seeing Cullen in that, _cage_. Images of her being the pawn that broke his mind and cursed his nightmares, his words still rang through her mind clear as day.

_‘tempting me with the one_ thing _I always wanted but could_ never _have’_

_‘my ill-advised infatuation’_

_‘a mage’_

The anguish and pain that laced his teenage voice still haunted her, yet the thrill of being able to see him again; to see him healthy, _happy_. Question’s flooded her mind; Does he still have nightmares? Does he still take lyrium? Does he talk about _her_?

Idrilla sighed, deciding whether to tell her the truth or live in ignorance, “He’s still infatuated with you,” she clasped a hand over her mouth not realising her brain decided to reveal the truth.

“You can’t be serious, after everything they put him through?” Isala was ready to crumble, yet didn’t want to expose the vulnerability in front of strangers, “I imagine it would be nice to see him after all these years, he’s must have grown tolerant of mages considering the _Inquisitor_ is one.”

Idrilla knew Isala was putting on a brave expression to save face, “Looks like we have two new party members, everyone. Let’s head back to camp.” Idrilla announced, distracting the others from the embarrassing questions they’d ask.

“Want a hand, Boss? I could carry her.” Iron Bull offered.

Isala looked at the younger elf who was waiting for a reply and shrugged, “It beats walking, and I imagine I’d only slow you all down. Thank you.”

***

The party soon arrived at camp with the inquisitor’s brother and Isala; Idrilla forced the two elves to see a healer as soon as they had been given food.

“Inquisitor, I do not mean to pry but,” Cassandra looked around to make sure no-one was in earshot, “the Hero of Ferelden became a warden, she drank darkspawn blood. Isn’t she… a _threat_?”

“No more than Blackwall is,” Idrilla countered and sighed, “the main thing is that when you and Bull found her, she was unresponsive due to malnourishment. The healer said the darkspawn blood isn’t affecting her as badly as it should, their shortened lifespans are only guidelines.”

“I hope you’re right, Inquisitor.”

As Cassandra left her side it was soon occupied her brother, looking much more like her sibling than he did before.

“Idrilla, how many _shems_ do you know? What is it with you having all these inter-racial friendships now?” Silvhen bore into Idrilla with a disapproving look.

“It kind of happens when you become the inquisitor and _lead_ all those different races. It’s difficult to be racist and close minded in that short of position.” Idrilla reprimanded.

Silvhen grimaced, “Ouch, look at my little sister growing up and being _serious_. I won’t judge, I find myself being a hypocrite when your company is so attractive.” Silvhen made sure to whisper the last sentence and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Dorian heard the comment as he neared the siblings and cringed. The thought of someone finding Cassandra attractive was disconcerting, but he concluded that he was, _in fact_ , biased.

Idrilla gaped at her brother suspiciously, shaking her head as she giggled and stepped towards her brother to whisper in his ear.

“And he’s _exactly_ your type. If you are to pursue him, don’t break his heart, because I _will_ break your legs.” Idrilla moved back to face her brother and laughed at his shocked expression. “What? _Someone_ has got to protect him from you. You sort of have a reputation.” Idrilla dodged her brother’s fist as he attempted to punch her arm.

“Quite the stink eye you've got going, Dorian.” Iron Bull announced, making Dorian jump thinking he’d been caught staring at the inquisitor’s brother.

“You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden, with _no_ thought save conquest.” Dorian lied, not wanting to reveal his true thoughts.

“That's right. These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns, I  _would_  conquer you.” Iron Bull declared passionately.

“Um.... what?” Dorian gaped, wide-eyed at Iron Bull.

“Oh,” Bull thought for a moment, “Is that not where we're going?” He added, nonchalantly

“No. It was very much  _not_.” Dorian declared before leaving with a flourish to sit at the camp fire.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Dorian was meticulously picking pieces of leaves and dirt from his robes as he felt the log he was sitting on shift when a weight was added to it. He pulled his attention from his clothing to find the Inquisitor’s brother sitting with his feet outstretched in front of him, cutting and apple with a small knife and eating the pieces he cut off the blade. The juice of the apple left a path down the elf’s jaw and that’s when Dorian noticed he was staring and quickly looked at something else to occupy his thoughts.

“Are you, _impudicus_? Silvhen queried making Dorian still at the sudden question. Dorian bowed his head as the all too familiar insult was once again brought to light.

“Well- it’s not as if I _introduce_ myself that way. ‘ _Hello,_ my name is Dorian. I like men’-” He sighed heavily. “Maybe I should start; some days it seems that’s all anyone ever cares about.”

Dorian move to stand, but Silvhen was quicker and placed a strong hand on the mages arm, halting his movements.

“No! Don’t leave- I don’t care, _seriously_. I’m more bothered about you being a _shem_ than liking men,” Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him before he continued, “What does it mean?” The elf’s golden eyes gazed at Dorian, waiting for an answer.

“Basically, it means impure, shameless, _immoral_. A word my father used countless times to describe _me_. I never thought after joining the inquisition that I would ever hear it again.” Dorian’s voice was thick with emotion, but he soon remembered his company and shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

“So _that’s_ what they’ve been calling me! Good to know.” Silvhen admitted, popping another piece of apple into his mouth.

Dorian’s mouth went dry at the admission and could feel his cheeks heat as they threatened to blush. The mage was lost in thought as he noticed another bead of juice trail down Silvhen’s chin; ready to drip before the elf caught it with his thumb, popping the digit in his mouth to taste the liquid. Dorian almost let out a moan at the seductive sight before him and realised he was gazing at Silvhen through hooded eyelids, and needed to leave before he did something stupid.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have been certain that the rogue was _trying_ to seduce him, yet how could someone change their views of humans so quickly? Dorian decided to ignore Silvhen no matter how annoyingly attractive he found him, but the elf was making it difficult. The damned fruit was unintentionally playing devil’s advocate, with the scent of the sweet nectar that coated the elf’s lips floating through the air, toying with Dorian’s senses and reserve.

Before the mage could act on any of his suggestive thoughts he decided to remove himself from the situation. He was making his way to the tent as Idrilla caught up to him.

“I was wondering if Silvhen could bunk with you tonight since you seemed so _friendly_ near the fire-.”

“No!” Dorian spat, before clearing his throat, “I mean, I… um.”

Idrilla gaped at the mage, surprised by the outburst before recoiling in laughter, “He got to you, didn’t he?”

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian inquired, feigning ignorance.

“Silvhen has made it very clear to me that he wants to… well, he finds you pleasing to the eye.”

“Who doesn’t in all honesty?” Dorian reasoned, mainly to calm his racing heart.

“You know what I mean, he’s my brother! I don’t want to know who he plans to have _sex_ with.”

“He wants to _what!_?”

“Creators, Dorian. You may be pretty _and_ smart, but you can sure be slow when it comes to _obvious_ signals.” Idrilla quirked an eyebrow when Dorian couldn’t make eye contact, “I was _joking_ , Dorian. You’re sharing with me and Sera tonight. I wanted to see your reaction to know if you’re _interested_ in my brother, and I guess I have my answer.” Idrilla beamed a toothy grin at the bewildered mage and entered the tent.

***

The next morning started lazy compared to their normal standards, with the majority of the party resting till the sun had fully risen. Silvhen, however, found the quiet morning a great way to reflect on the past 24 hours and Isala had the same idea.  

“I’ve been thinking. Idrilla said something about having ‘a small part’ of our clan left, what could she mean by that?” Silvhen asked.

“I have no idea, but the way she’s been acting gives me the idea something bad happened to our clan.”

Silvhen nodded his head in agreement, just as Idrilla joined the other two elves. Idrilla waited for the two to continue their conversation, but realising they wouldn’t she decided to start her own line of questioning.

“So… why are the two of you in Crestwood? I figured you’d both be with our clan.”

“I had some warden business to attend to,” Isala answered, not entirely confident.

“Oh? Care to elaborate?”

Isala sighed in defeat, not wanting to lie to her sister, “I received a letter a while ago, calling all Wardens in the area to report for duty. And what's more, Warden Stroud is apparently a wanted fugitive from the Order. That's not the Stroud I know… It can't be,” Isala shrugged, unsure of the authenticity, “I decided I should investigate this myself.”

Idrilla quirked her eyebrow at the coincidence, “Funny you should say that we’re supposed to meet a warden here; I wonder if we happen to need the same person. We will help you find him.”

Idrilla nodded her head in farewell but was stopped by a gentle hand on her arm, “Idrilla, I need to know what you meant by ‘a small part’ of our clan left. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about it.” Silvhen prodded.

Idrilla gaped at her brother, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, “I… I thought you knew.”

Silvhen shook his head, along with Isala. Both elves believing their clan back in Wycome were alive and well, aside from mercenary presence looming. Once Idrilla revealed the truth as to what had happened, Silvhen fell to the floor in anguish, holding his baby sister in a tight embrace as they shared the somber moment.

Isala’s hardened exterior fractured but stayed strong. Anger whipped through her core and her emotions played havoc with her resolve; she was elated that the two people she most cared about were still alive in front of her, but she also mourned for the large loss of life.

Once the siblings felt they shared their last tear, and after Isala finished declaring war with the mercenaries; the three elves began to share stories of their time with the clan. The reminiscing helped soothe the ache in their hearts and to offer them all distractions; they continued this way until the rest of the party had joined them.

Dorian was quick to realise what had transpired that morning between the family, and by the puffiness of eyes and lethargic movements, he knew they’d been awake for hours discussing the unfortunate events.

“I do hope you _both_ , are alright,” Dorian asked, knowing the answer.

“No, we aren’t; but thank you for asking,” Silvhen sighed, “It _should_ be me asking if you are alright, considering I almost _killed_ you.” Silvhen offered.

“Please, you were one spell away from joining the dirt on the ground as ash.” Dorian jested.

“ _Sure_ … but we got off on the wrong foot and I’d like to start again,” Silvhen cleared his throat and held out his hand, plastering a charming smile across his face, “I’m Silvhen Lavellen, brother of the Inquisitor, and assassin. Nice to meet you.”

Dorian half-smiled, shaking the elf’s hand, “Dorian Pavus of the Inquisition. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The two men stared wistfully at each other until the Inquisitor broke their reverie, announcing that Iron Bull and Cassandra were both headed back to Skyhold, whilst the rest stayed.

“Cass, Bull. I need you _both_ to treat Isala’s presence with the utmost secrecy, don’t tell a _soul_. Could you do that for me, please?” Idrilla asked the two warriors.

They both nodded their heads in understanding and Idrilla decided that was enough for her, bidding the two farewell before joining the smaller party in the hunt for the exiled warden.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet Warden Shroud, an old friend of Isala's. Busy chapter this one and we finally head back to Skyhold... now to wait for the moment our dear Commander and his lost love meet.

The hunt for the elusive Grey Warden happened to be easier than Idrilla expected. Approaching the smuggler’s den, she noticed the unkempt, ink black hair and the haphazard red smear of paint that brushed across the Champion of Kirkwall’s face; his posture changing to greet her.

“I think you should leave your party here. My ally is not exactly…  _trusting_.” Hawke mentioned as they approached.

“Is your ally Warden Shroud, per chance? He  _happens_  to be an old friend; I will definitely not wait outside.” Isala declared, defiantly.

Hawke narrowed his eye’s momentarily before conceding, “If you must follow so be it, but let the inquisitor enter first. You can enter on my signal.”

Isala nodded her head, agreeing to the terms and held back whilst the inquisitor entered the den alone. As the petite elf pushed against the unstable wooden door she was surprised to find the den empty aside from a few scattered crates and netting. Idrilla turned to take in her surroundings and the familiar scraping of a metal against metal echoed around the cave, with the sharp tip of a sword inches away from the elf’s face as she came to meet the warden’s glare.

“It’s just us,” Hawke declared, approaching the two, “I brought the Inquisitor, and a  _friend_.”

“My name is Shroud, and I am at your service Inquisitor,” Shroud introduced himself, sheathing his sword, “What do you mean, a  _friend_?”

As the word’s left the warden’s lips Isala entered from the tunnel, shock and surprise spreading across Shroud’s face.

“Warden-Commander Isala!” Shroud gasped, slapping his arm across his chest in salute to his superior, bowing his head slightly.

“Shroud, what is the meaning of all this? Isala asked, as a friend, not an authority.

“Does it have anything to do with Corypheus?” Idrilla added.

“My fear it is so. When my friend Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the matter to rest,” Shroud turned, moving further into the den,” but an Archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power. My investigation uncovered clues but no proof. Then, not long after, every warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.”

“Maker, why didn’t you tell me?” Hawke gasped, hurt from the withheld information.

“It was a Grey Warden matter; I was bound by an oath of secrecy. Warden-Commander Isala would understand.” Shroud admitted.

“Isala, you would have been near Wycombe. You wouldn’t have heard this call, right?” Idrilla inquired, already knowing the answer from Isala’s guilty expression.

“Dreams,” Isala muttered, “I had some dreams when we entered Crestwood, the whispers haven’t started to begin.”

Idrilla felt like she was still missing something, so pressed the two Grey Wardens for more information about the calling. She found Isala hadn’t been entirely forthcoming, so Shroud had revealed the truths of a Grey Warden who hears the calling.  They would travel to the Deep Roads, to battle out their final days as the Blight took them. Idrilla’s hand shot to her mouth in an attempt to catch the sob that escaped.

“So… so you’re going to die? Just like that?” Idrilla was holding herself together for the sake of the inquisition but desperately wanted to cry.

“Every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they’re dying?” Hawke inquired, distracting Idrilla.

“Yes, likely because of Corypheus. If the Wardens fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear.” Shroud admitted.

Idrilla still reeled from the new information yet couldn’t shake the feeling that it was strange for all Grey Warden’s to hear the Calling at the same time, and Hawke put the inquisitor's mind at ease when he too confirmed her suspicions. They realised this was Corypheus’ plan; to bluff the Grey Wardens into travelling to their deaths.

Idrilla questioned whether the calling was real, or if Corypheus had discovered how to mimic it but Shroud disregarded the thought, unknowing if the call was in fact fabricated. All he knew was that a number of Warden’s all believed the Calling to be real, acting accordingly.

Isala’s interest was piqued when Warden Shroud mentioned a blood ritual, spoken of by Warden-Commander Clarel; in an effort to prevent future Blights. When Shroud revealed he protested the plan, declaring it madness, the other wardens reacted badly and banished him.

“At least you saw sense; this is utter madness!” Isala barked, throwing her hands in the air in defeat.

“I’m glad you agree. Grey Wardens are meeting here,” Shroud pointed to a location on a map for confirmation, “The Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. Meet me there and we will find answers.” Shroud nodded his head in farewell and promptly left the den.

Outside in the cool air of dusk, Hawke bid farewell and the two elves joined the party. They relayed the information gathered from Shroud and headed back to camp to collect their mounts.

Idrilla’s Red Hart,  _Ashavise_ , stood at the rock face loyally. As Idrilla approached, the faithful steed whinnied her delight at the return of her master, and Idrilla patted the Harts fiery red fur before quickly mounting the creature. As she settled, Idrilla held her hand out to her brother in an invitation to ride with her.

“You must be joking; I am not letting my  _little sister_  take the reins,” Silvhen announced defiantly.

Sera was quick to offer her horse in trade, “I’ll ride with Shiny, she’s  _warm_.” Idrilla blushed at the pet name and helped the elf onto her horse.

“Why does she call Idrilla,  _Shiny_?” Silvhen asked Dorian.

“You… do  _not_  want to know that. Considering you’re her brother and all.” Dorian replied honestly.

***

Travelling back to Skyhold had its ups and downs. Running into bandits and wolves hadn’t been an issue as they were quickly dealt with; the incessant complaining from Dorian, however, began to irritate the party.

The change in the atmosphere also meant a change in weather and it was common knowledge that the Altus was susceptible to the cold. Hours before they were due to arrive back at Skyhold, had most of the party mimicking the complaints that would erupt from Dorian’s lips, but when the teeth chattering began; it sounded forced for dramatic effect.

“Do you have an off switch? You’re  _seriously_  getting on my nerves.” Silvhen complained as Dorian continued to shiver.

“I am the only human amongst elves, you  _all_  are immune to it so no one else feels my discomfort.”

“ _Fenedhis_ , here,” Silvhen removed his own cloak and gave it to the mage, “I’m sure we’d be more sympathetic if your blasted attire wasn’t missing an  _arm_.”

“I’m sure he’d loved to,” Isala muttered, causing Idrilla to giggle.

Silvhen quirked an eyebrow at his sister, “What’s so funny?”

“You just told him to suck-  _Never mind_.” Isala brushed off the glare she received.

“So Isala, are you looking forward to seeing our  _dear_  Commander?” Dorian asked trying to distract himself.

“I… Umm. I suppose I am. It’s been ten years; I’d be surprised if he recognises me. I’ve changed so much.”

“I feel the man could suffer a concussion and wouldn’t forget you. How have you changed? You look so young.” Dorian quipped, noticing the lack of wrinkles on the elf’s face.

“I’m an elf, of course, I look young. But back then, the Isala  _he_  knew; my hair was  _a lot_ shorter, I didn’t have vallaslin… I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious.”

“Hmm, you have nothing to worry about,” Dorian smiled genuinely, looking ahead, “Ah, it seems you won’t have to wait much longer to meet him either. Welcome to  _Skyhold_.”

Isala and Silvhen looked up to the huge fortress adorning the mountain face and gasped in awe. The dumbstruck expressions of both elves soon broke as a grin spread across their faces.

“ _Tarasyl'an Te'las.”_ Isala spoke, her voice oozing pride.

“Oi, stop it being elfy, you!” Sera chastised, prodded the Inquisitor on a rib.

“It’s  _beautiful_.” Silvhen and Isala breathed simultaneously.

The party brought their mounts to a canter as they sped up to the bridge joining the road to the castle, the giant iron gates opening as if by magic as the Inquisitor's presence was confirmed. The party rode into the stables to deliver the steeds, each dismounting as they grew closer.

“Isala, I believed I have someone you’d like to meet,” Idrilla mentioned, bringing the Grey Warden closer into the stables.

“Blackwall, I’d like you to meet my good friend Isala. You  _might_  know her as the Hero of Ferelden.” Idrilla introduced.

Blackwall’s eye’s widened in shock, before replicating the same salute Shroud executed, “Warden-Commander Isala; it is an honour to meet you, m’lady.”

“It seems I’m famous everywhere,” Isala mused, “It’s an honour to meet you too Warden, I feel we shall become fast friends.”

Idrilla looked at Blackwall and a look of worry flashed across his face but quickly dissipated, if Idrilla had blinked she would have missed it.

“Now, let’s take you to meet my advisors,” Idrilla announced and Isala’s hand shot out to grasp Idrilla’s, squeezing it and smiling tight-lipped.

Idrilla quirked her eyebrow and pulled Isala to a relatively private part of the barn.

Isala looked at the smaller elf, “I’m not sure- “

Idrilla cut her off before she could continue,” Don’t even think about running away, all those years talking about the man and here he is.”

“Idrilla, you don’t understand. The last time I saw him, he wasn’t the same man I fell in  _love_  with. He may never be that man again.”

“Well, let’s find out  _shall we_?” Idrilla beamed.

“You’re  _incorrigible_.” Isala began to shake her head and laughed to herself, “Lead the way,  _Inquisitor_.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a decade apart, the Commander and the Hero of Ferelden meet again and someone isn't very happy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeee! Time for Fereldy to meet Cully wully again- I loved writing this chapter and this pairing is perfect! I felt so bad when I started romancing Cullen on my playthrough as I felt he was already taken by Breathing2nd. I know, I know... I'm weird. But hey ho, if it wasn't for that I wouldn't have wrote this fic :D

“I believe this is yours once again, Commander.” Solas declared before resetting the pieces on the chessboard.

“I guess those years spent trying to beat my sister came in handy.” Cullen mused, slightly smug.

“I would not be smug so quickly, I have a good feeling about this next round.” Solas smiled barely, taking a sip of tea before grimacing.

“Don't you like tea, Solas?” Cullen questioned.

“I detest the stuff.” Solas said flatly, before losing his train of thought and staring into the distance, “It appears the Inquisitor has returned, with  _company_.”

“Is that so?” Cullen turned and saw Idrilla approaching with two elves, one obscured hiding behind the Inquisitor and a male elf.

“I’m happy to see you have returned safely, Inquisitor,” Cullen said after he stood.

“No need for formalities, Cullen. Please finish your game or your tea at least.” Idrilla reasoned, causing the Commander to smirk, and retrieve his cup holding the lukewarm liquid.

“Cullen, I’d like to introduce you to my brother, Silvhen. We found him in Crestwood.”

“Your _Brother_? You survived! Marker’s breath, that’s a miracle.” Cullen said, taking a long sip from his drink.

“You’re telling me; Nice to meet you,  _Commander_ ,” Silvhen grinned.

“And I believe you are already aquatinted with my elder sister,  _Isala_ ,” Idrilla added, moving aside to reveal the Hero of Ferelden to the Commander.

Cullen’s eye’s trebled in size; choking slightly on the tea he was holding in his mouth before he spat out the contents, coughing and gasping for breath.

Idrilla’s eye’s followed the milky liquid through the air as it hit Solas in the face, droplets running down the elf’s angular face; dripping from his nose.

“I  _hate_  tea.” The elf snapped, blinking through his tea stained lashes; promptly leaving the chessboard to clean himself up.

Idrilla barely managed to keep a straight face at the uptight elf’s misfortune, ducking her head to hide the wide smile that threatened to erupt into laughter.

Cullen soon caught his breath and stood straight, the transition from _Commander_ to _Templar_ was instantaneous and Cullen had reverted to the stuttering teenager who was besotted by the enthralling mage. The Commander continued to move his mouth as words failed him, eyes far too wide in bewilderment.

“Hi,” Cullen and Isala greeted at the same time.

Idrilla watched the exchange between the two, finding their matching masks of shock amusing and intriguing. She had to admit, ten years _was_ a long time to not see someone. With Idrilla recently learning of Isala’s fate as a Grey Warden, Cullen may have presumed the Hero of Ferelden dead.

“I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted,” Idrilla announced.

“No- Um… No need, _Inquisitor_ ,” Isala stuttered, averting her gaze from Cullen, “I’m sure the Commander has _better_ things to do than sit reminiscing about the past.” Isala smiled yet it didn’t reach her eyes, scurrying away to stand with Silvhen and Dorian.

“We will speak of this later, Idrilla.” Cullen scowled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand before marching to his office.

Idrilla stood bewildered as she processed the past few minutes that had transpired. She shook her head when she finally noticed three pairs of eyes on her and a gentle prodding on her back. She turned to see Sera smiling tight-lipped before pushing Idrilla towards the others.

“What was _that_ about?” Idrilla demanded.

“I can’t do it,” Isala muttered, shaking her head, “He looks _happy_. If I even _attempted_ to rekindle anything he could turn into that husk of a man I saw back in the circle; I love him far too much to put him through that again.”

Idrilla tried to hide her shocked expression but failed, “You _love_ him?” She asked.

“Did I say that out loud?” Isala whispered, rubbing her hand over her face sighing, “I _suppose_ I always have. That’s why I can’t put him through that again.”

Idrilla nodded her understanding and bid farewell to Dorian and Sera, bringing her siblings with her to meet the other advisors.

The journey through Skyhold to the war room was amusing for Idrilla. Nobles’ began to fawn over her, giddy to see the Inquisitor and for once, the attention didn’t irritate her. All Silvhen and Isala could do was watch in shock at how important their younger sibling had become.

The three elves entered Josephine’s office to see the Ambassador busy scribbling reports and replies to the many letters received. She was still hard at work when Idrilla was stood in front of her desk and only then did Josephine jump and apologise profusely for not hearing them enter.

“Josie, these doors are the loudest in Skyhold. What has you so distracted?” Idrilla asked, to be quickly disregarded as Josephine moved from her desk.

“None of that matters at this moment, Inquisitor. I’m happy to see you have returned safely; these must be your fellow clansmen you found in Crestwood, correct?”

“They are, I’d like you to meet my brother _Silvhen_ , and my sister _Isala_.” Idrilla introduced, motioning to each elf.

“Brother _and_ sister? You mean… Oh, Inquisitor, I am so happy to hear this wonderful news!” Josephine beamed, clapping her hands in delight.

“Josie, are you aware the Inquisitor has arrived with her brother _and_ sister?” Leliana said as she entered the room, her attention focused on a report.

“Leliana, this is Silvhen and-.”

“Isala?” Leliana questioned, shocked to see the Hero of Ferelden standing before her, “Thank the _maker_ you’re alive!”

“You didn’t know? And you call yourself the _spymaster.”_ Isala jibbed, both women laughing together.

“I find that I have not been entirely honest with you, Inquisitor. Isala and I are old friends; I aided her in the fifth blight.” Leliana explained, wearing a rare smile that looked odd on her usually platonic expression.

“Inquisitor, I have taken the liberty of organising quarters for your brother and sister. I hope they find the rooms satisfactory.” Josephine announced, giving each elf a key.

“What- We get our own rooms?” Silvhen asked, shocked.

“Of course. You want your privacy, no?” Josephine smiled and returned to her desk.

Idrilla smirked at the ambassador’s generosity and only then noticed the fatigue evident on her face.

“You both should get some rest, please take the afternoon for yourselves.” Idrilla pleaded with wide eyes, “If I have to make that an order, so be it.”

Leliana’s face lit up in rare joy, “I shall show Isala to her room, Inquisitor.” She offered, eager to reminisce with her friend.

Idrilla nodded, pleased that the two women who never stopped working agreed to take a rest. The three women arranged plans to meet the following morning in the war room to decide their next step with the grey wardens, and they all silently relished in the opportunity to have a moment to breath.

After pleasantries and bidding her advisors farewell, Idrilla left Josephine’s office to show her brother his quarters; the short journey spent introducing her brother her inner circle she passed en route.

“Feel free to use the training ground, you may teach our rogues a thing or two.” Idrilla offered, receiving a nod and a beaming smile.

Although Josephine hadn’t known who the two elves accompanying the Inquisitor back to Skyhold were, she definitely knew how to make someone feel welcome. She had no doubt in mind that Isala’s quarters would be any different, but the moderate size space had been furnished similar to her own; noting the curtains also matched.

Idrilla giggled to herself, with the knowledge that if Dorian was ever in the room he’d _definitely_ comment on them. She soon left her brother to his own devices, which included scouting the training ground, with the promise of meeting for food and introductions later in the evening.

She had to see the Commander, and she wasn’t looking forward to the scolding she’d receive.

***

“What in the maker’s name do you think you are doing? Bringing _her_ here!” Cullen shouted at Idrilla, who was absent-mindedly picking at her nails as he ranted, “ _Anyone_. You could have brought anyone back but it had to be her!”

The commander had finished pacing when his voice slightly broke and collapsed on his chair, face buried in his hands. Idrilla wanted to keep quiet and allow the man to purge the unnecessary torment he was harbouring, yet she found it difficult. The man was normally reserved; professional and calm at all times, this display before her was _worrying_.

Her face contorted in empathy as she knelt at the side of Cullen, “What is so wrong about her being here? If you hold any concerns regarding her presence with her being a Grey Warden, then it is nothing to trouble yourself with.”

“It’s not that, I assure you,” Cullen said defeated.

Idrilla was about to ask what it was, but Cullen had beaten her to it. He explained what had happened in the circle; the attraction, the kiss, the heartbreak, the _torture_. The small elf sat and listened to the story of his past, gasping and holding back tears when he reached the end of his recollection.

Idrilla stood and Cullen followed out of habit and respect; yet Cullen hadn’t expected the Inquisitor to hug him, attempting to squeeze out the pain he held in his heart.

“You _poor_ man,” Idrilla sobbed whilst the Commander awkwardly patted the elf on her head, holding her in a one arm hug, “Do you still have nightmares?” Idrilla sniffed, stepping back to give the man some space.

“I sometimes feel I always will, but recent events have caused them to be far more… _frequent_.”

Idrilla quirked an eyebrow, “Care to elaborate?”

“I- I wanted to tell you sooner, considering your position in the inquisition.” The commander steeled himself as he sighed, “I have made the decision to stop taking lyrium, I am no longer a Templar and I do not want to be bound to the life no longer.”

“But Cullen, can’t that kill you?” Idrilla asked, concern evident in her shock.

“It hasn’t yet, I haven’t been taking it for months. I appreciate the concern Inquisitor; please know I will defer to Cassandra if my place as commander is compromised.”

Idrilla moved her mouth to speak but stopped when she decided her concern was misplaced, “I think it’s a great thing what you’re doing, not only for the inquisition but for the future of Templar’s. Thank you for letting me know.”

The human and elf stood in silence for a moment, Idrilla slowly taking in the news and Cullen relieved the Inquisitor supported his choice.

“So, why did you never mention Isala is your sister?” Cullen asked, breaking Idrilla’s thoughts.

“She’s not actually my sister, she came to my clan ten years ago when I was nine; I didn’t mention her because there was no need to,” Idrilla leaned against the desk, tapping her chin with her finger, lost in thought, “and I found out about your past with her after my clan was attacked, I didn’t feel like it was the best time to announce it.”

“Thank you for your discretion on the matter, _Inquisitor_ ,” Cullen nodded his head in appreciation, “Wait, you’re _nineteen_?”

Idrilla rolled her eyes, “Yes, I am _nineteen.”_

“I.. didn’t know.” Cullen admitted, shocked that someone so young was responsible for the fate of half of Thedas, “It explains why you’re so… rebellious?” Cullen half smiled as Idrilla feigned shock.

“Me? Rebellious? _No_ ,” Idrilla replied sarcastically, “In all fairness, my name does mean _little rebel_.”

“How fitting.” Cullen mused.

Idrilla smiled and turned to leave but stopped as she reached the door, “Do you still _love_ her, Cullen?”

She could hear the small exhale of air as Cullen smirked, “I don’t think I ever stopped.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A filler chapter, the siblings meet the rest of the Inquisitor's inner circle and begin to form friendships with the lack of presence from a certain Commander...

“And then, after weeks of training, she shot an arrow straight into our keeper’s leg.” Silvhen announced to the table seating the entire inner circle, receiving a burst of untamed laughter from everyone in earshot.

Idrilla groaned at the memory when she dabbled in hunting, shooting a mischievous glare at her brother who was still laughing at her expense. A moment later a bolt of light scattered across the tavern walls, leaving a purple hue in its wake before connecting with the back of the gloating elf’s head.

“Hey, what was that?” Silvhen complained, rubbing the small crop of singed hair at his crown.

“A warning,” Idrilla replied deadpan, harmless sparks dancing across her fingertips “At least _I_ didn’t lose half of our halla in the forest; then have to go looking for them. It took him _three_ days.”

Silvhen scowled and called a truce, not wishing to outdo each other with embarrassing stories. Idrilla _would_ win. Everyone had been formally introduced, and friendships were being formed over an abundance of food; courtesy of the ambassador. Josephine had been denied a _soiree_ to celebrate the survival of Idrilla’s siblings so made up for it with cakes and pastries exclusive to the extended inner circle.

The evening continued with pleasant conversation and banter, but Idrilla couldn’t ignore how distracted Isala was, guessing the reason was a certain Commander’s absence. Cullen had reported that he was _too busy_ planning strategies, wanting to be prepared at all times and sending a scout to relay the news rather than him deliver it in person.

“Are you okay, Warden-Commander?” Blackwall’s gruff voice cut through the tension evident on Isala’s forehead.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Isala assured, still deciding if she should trust the warden. She quickly raised her drink, draining the cup and rising to her feet, “I think I will retire for the evening.”

Idrilla shot her a sympathetic look, to ask if she was going to be alright. Isala smiled and nodded her head, quickly leaving the tavern before anyone took the chance of asking more questions. Once outside in the cool breeze of the night, Isala breathed in the crisp air; pleased with how liberating being in the mountains felt. She toed the stones on the floor as she strolled the grounds of the fortress, stopping when she reached the training dummies, sensing a presence around her.

“Remembering hurts. Feared and never forgotten, it wasn’t your fault.” An eerie voice sounded behind the tree.

“Excuse me?” Isala asked, before the young boy with a ridiculous hat came into view, “ _Oh_. You must be Cole.”

“Yes, I am Cole!” He announced, voice bursting with pride, “Rejected and lost, he feels the same you know?”

Isala shook her head in disbelief as what she was hearing, her own thoughts softly spoken back to her, “I appreciate that you’re trying help, but please don’t go rooting around in my head.” Isala asked, but Cole looked at her confused, “It’s… _bizarre_.” She added.

“I’m _sorry_ , I feel the coil ready to snap. Its… _tight_ and needs to be loosened.” Cole rushed, his head bowing once more.

“Ugh, it’s being creepy again.” Sera announced in disgust as she approached with Idrilla.

“I wouldn’t say creepy. I’m sure he’s just misunderstood.” Isala reasoned.

Cole’s head shot up with an awkward beaming smile plastered on his pale and ghostly face, “You called me _he_!”

“Um… your welcome?” Isala almost questioned, understanding it was the right thing to do with the young boy’s reaction; baulking when she realised he’d most likely be _older_ than Idrilla.

Creators, she has a whole world to save. Isala thought to herself.

“She’s strong. Determined, but scared. She knows the risks yet _chooses_ to stay. I like her.” Cole declared, beaming once more before he retreated to the upper floor of the tavern.

“See? _Creepy_.” Sera insisted, “You coming, Shiny?”

“Sure. I’ll meet you back at my quarters, okay?” Idrilla reasoned and the rogue shrugged before she left the siblings together.

Isala wasn’t familiar with Idrilla’s inquisitorial mask, the other persona which she would normally struggle to believe was her younger sibling if she didn’t know any better. Although the silence between them grew, Idrilla held her ground and refused to speak until Isala did; knowing the quiet would annoy her.

“What can I help you with, Inquisitor?” Isala spat, the silence getting the better of her.

“Finally! I thought we’d be here all night.” Idrilla jested but a loving smile remained on her face. “How are you feeling after today?

Isala shrugged as she picked at her nails with both hands, her gaze falling on them so Idrilla wouldn’t notice the slight wetness in her eyes. “I’m… _fine_.” She breathed.

“I know that’s a lie, I’ve learnt from the best when it comes to matters of the heart.” Idrilla spoke sweetly, replicating the tone Isala used when Idrilla declared she’d never find love as a child.

“Spoken like a true clone.” Isala laughed, sniffling as she caught stray tears before it managed to escape, “So much has changed; I thought you were mistaken when you said it was him. I _almost_ wish you were.”

“Are you sure about that?” Idrilla scoffed, “ _You_ had warning, but he had no idea you would be here. After I spoke to him I can appreciate he wants some space; he might have said something he’d later regret.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Isala huffed, admitting defeat against her little sister. “Besides, don’t let me spoil your night. Go have fun with your city rogue.”

Idrilla blushed at the mention of Sera, making Isala raise a questioning eyebrow, “I plan to, but I’m sure I can walk you to your room first.”

“An escort to my room by none other than the Inquisitor herself? People will think I have certain liberties.”  Isala mused.

Idrilla rolled her eyes, “Oh shut it, you’re starting to sound like Dorian.”

“Perhaps… I have to agree with him though, It’s freezing on these mountains.” Isala shivered almost as if to reiterate her point.

The biting breeze continued to weave between alcoves and columns to create a vortex of perishing cold; the two elves gave each other a knowing look before racing to Isala’s quarters to escape being frozen solid.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silvhen is smitten by the resident Tevinter mage and is fed up with his sister stopping any chances of a relationship happening. Features the amazing Breathing2nd who amazingly provided the dialogue for Isala, her inquisitor who features in here as the Hero of Ferelden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait to post this chapter! I just could NOT get Isala right when I was writing her dialogue, so what better than getting Isala herself to write her responses? Cue Breathing2nd being an absolute gem and doing her parts, so this was a new and fun writing experience for me! Quite a few chapters are in this style also :D

Early the next morning a war cry reverberated through the circular walls of the rotunda; a sound which normally Dorian would simply ignore and continue to read. This occasion he decided to investigate; not only for the ridiculously early hour for scouts to be training, but also the familiarity in the curt voice that responded.

The brittle pieces of parchment in the leather bound book fluttered together before shutting completely; the offensively boring piece of literature finding a home on Dorian's armchair. A rush of cold air pierced through the Altus’ clothing; fashion versus warmth debating in the mage’s mind as he moved to a part of Skyhold he rarely frequented.

Approaching the sound of daggers clashing and scouts cheering, he manoeuvred his way to see what the fuss what about without others touching him or invading his privacy; stopping still to find Silvhen panting with a beaming smile. The early morning sun was reflected by the sweat covered contours of the elf’s muscles, displaced by dirt and minor bruises.

Metal spun effortlessly between nimble fingers, the hilt resting firmly in the self-taught assassin hands. Translucent smoke billowed around Silvhen’s lithe body, shrouding the elf in shadows as his prey stood helpless in the centre of the training ring. A flash of blue light appeared behind the terrified scout; who promptly dropped his weapons as the blunt edge of Silvhen’s dagger pressed against his throat.

“Do you yield?” Silvhen barked, to which the scout nodded hastily. He smirked, pushing the taller human away from him to pat him on the back, “Better this time, just expect the unexpected.”

“I see you're already putting my men through their paces.” Cullen commented as a number of footsteps scurried away front the scene.

“I currently have no duties at the moment- I thought _someone_ should show them how it's done, Commander.” Silvhen toyed, enjoying that the jibe irked Cullen.

“I shall not dignify that with a response.” Cullen spat, unsettling the dust around his feet as he turned to leave.

“How about it, Commander? A little _tête-à-tête_?” Silvhen propositioned, “I can use a sword, too.”

“Maybe some other time.” Cullen smirked.

Silvhen half smiled, feeling a gaze on his back as he retrieved a flask of water from the floor.

“Look- I know I'm handsome but it's rude to stare.” Silvhen mused as he uncapped the leather container, splashing some of the water onto his face before drinking it.

Dorian folded his arms and laughed heartily at the elf, “Simply admiring your style- _that’s all_.”

“If that reason will help you sleep at night; we’ll go with that.” Silvhen shrugged, smirking.

“I would offer to heal your bruises but I find myself lacking in the practice.” He confessed, changing topic.

“ _Shame_ ; I’d love to have your hands all over me-”

"Are either of you planning on putting your tongues into one another's mouths?” Isala jested as she joined the two men, “Yes? No? Well- decide quickly, because some of us came here to train.”

"Not now you've taken the fun out of it." Silvhen whined.

A gentle smile tugged at the petite elf’s lips, "I'm good at that. _Grey_ Wardens aren't supposed to be fun. We're supposed to save the _fucking_ world.” She answered deadpan, trying but failing to hide her mirth laced voice, “Now then, if the children are done playing, the adults want to spar."

Dorian balked at the accusation. _He_ was a _child_? The gall of the almost stranger irked him. "Excuse _me_ , but don't I get a say in this? Whatever gives the impression I'd do such a thing?"

"Oh I don't know, it could be that flush of colour in your cheeks or the way you licked your lips just now.” The Altus’ hand instinctively shot to his mouth to test for moisture, finding the elven mage correct before glaring in suspicion, “Don't tell me it’s just this cool mountain air that's got you all a flutter?" Isala added, to find Dorian bewildered at the accuracy of her accusations.

Dorian eventually quirked his eyebrow and conceded, " _Well_. I've enjoyed this little _chat_ , but I shall take that as my cue to leave. Good day." The Altus swiftly made his exit before the Warden could retaliate.

Isala held in the urge to laugh as the flamboyant mage strutted away with his wounded pride. She watched the fine tailoring of his robes sway as he retreated in a hurry before she felt a slight wave of unease, the side of her head almost burning if such a thing could happen from a glare alone.

Turning slowly, she found Silvhen glowering, “ _Stop_ ruining it.” He demanded, pouting in annoyance.

The smile which graced Isala’s lips was soft and loving; yet again achieving to embarrass the assassin, “Well, it wouldn't have been nice of me to lie." She quirked, stretching her arms above her head and behind her back in preparation.

Isala absently watched the male elf casually admire Dorian before he soon disappeared from sight, seeing Silvhen’s eye’s shift in emotion when he could no longer see his fantasy paramour. She knew he was one to fall fast for someone, and after Idrilla’s firm berating of his animosity towards the shemlen his views quickly dissipated, he also noticed the appeal of the Tevinter Altus.

Isala’s smiled faltered for a moment before she shook her head in disbelief, "Oh Sil...you have all the time in the world don't you."

“For someone like that? _Definitely_.” Silvhen sighed dreamily, winking at the stunned elf when she regained his attention, “So then, is this going to be another occasion where I let you win?” He questioned, intending to irk Isala.

Isala scoffed at the obvious lie, " _Let_ me win? You have met me right? You do know who I am? _What_ they call me? I'm… kind of a big deal." She teased, watching the male elf roll his eyes.

“Yeah _yeah_. I’ve heard it a million times, _‘blah blah I’m the Hero of Ferelden, fear me…’_ terrifying stuff,” Silvhen goaded, stretching muscles causing bones to crack, “Creators, my body sounds as old as you _are_.”

"You only _wish_ you looked this good when you're as old as I am, _da’len_." The Dalish word for _child_ rolled from her tongue oozing with conceit and slight mockery. "Now then, should I go easy on you so as not to make you look bad in front of your lover? Oh what’s that? He's not your lover, is he? Hm, well then I guess I have to go easy on you then. Wouldn't want to wound more than your pride today."

Silvhen huffed in annoyance, Isala effortlessly provoking the cocky elf, “Perhaps he’s not yet, but it’s early days _hahren_. Plus, it’s only morning, after we’ve finished here I might just go find him.” Silvhen groaned inwardly at the thought, “If he’s _accommodating_ , that is.” He shook his head to regain his train of thought, gesturing to Isala to give him her best shot.

The two elves began to circle each other, the rogue coiled and ready to attack when provoked; Isala on the other hand was nimble and it showed as she effortless shifted her weight between her feet, keeping her steps and movements light in preparation for Silvhen’s inevitable strike. As the two continued to occupy the corners of the training ring, it occurred to the warden that she had failed to procure a weapon, as the rogue cockily twirling his blunted daggers between deft fingers. Isala huffed her annoyance, knowing Silvhen wasn’t so cocky to realise that she needed no weapon.

She decided she’d make sure the brash grin would be wiped from his face, the dirty tricks he executed a few moments before with the scout still raw in her mind. He needed a taste of his own medicine, and exhaled as she made sure to focus on the vacant spot behind the snarky elf. The veil swathed the elf’s body as the fade succumbed to her control, stepping effortlessly through and appearing behind the supposed assassin.

Before Silvhen could act, Isala twirled on one bare foot as the other connected with the elf’s rear, shouting with vengeance as he stumbled to the ground. "You know, it's not really polite to sneak up on people." She reminded, taunting the elf with his defeat, "Told you I'd kick your ass.”

Silvhen sighed as he sat defeated on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him as he sighed, “I guess I deserved that.” He closed his eyes and stretched his neck to either side, wincing when he discovered a tender muscle, “You’re a cruel woman when you-”

“What in the maker’s name was that?” A familiar voice boomed, cutting off Silvhen midsentence, “Since _when_ was magic acceptable in the training ring?” The Commander demanded, his stern gaze surveying the two elves in the ring. His eye’s softening when they landed on the smug expression of Isala.

The sound of Isala’s laughter that filled the ring a moment before slowly died when _his_ voiced shook the ground. The sobering reprimand of the Commander’s voice served to quell any further chance of chuckling at her brother’s expense. Cullen’s presence alone made Isala’s posture stiffen and her head bow, memories from a decade ago of that same voice and sound echoing off the circle walls.

The Commander almost drifted to being the Templar once again, but stayed true to his determination and didn’t entertain his wandering mind. His penetrative gaze softened when he focused on her, reminding the Warden that the man beneath the armour cared as much for her and she cared for him. That was until those amber eyes darkened, his gaze hardening in panic as he fell prey to his past. Looking at the elven mage as if he only saw a demon.

An abomination.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed and sparring takes place, did anyone know Silvhen is a class A arsehole? Because... he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from the previous chapter, once again featuring the amazing Breathing2nd <3

“Apologies, Commander Cullen. I was not aware magic was _forbidden_." Isala quipped, her reply brusquer than intended.

“I hadn’t realised you’d be training so soon, considering the condition you were found in at Crestwood.” Cullen sighed, his arm rising to massage the base of his neck in a nervous gesture, “And magic _isn’t_ forbidden.” The Commander stressed, awkwardly shifting on his feet in the presence of his infatuation.

So much had changed over the last ten years; Cullen’s tolerance of mages high upon his list. He debated over the years whether he could love a mage but the answer was simple. As his harsh demeanour began to fracture memories of the nightmares he’d suffered resurfaced in a harsh onslaught of punishment, reminding him why he would stay away.

“An abomination, infatuation. Too wrong to be right. But the feelings, they feel; Strong and taut.” Cole breathed in an eerie trance, appearing at the side of Isala.

"Cole? I asked you to stay out of my head." She grumbled, her eyes cautiously risking a glance at the industrious Commander, "Thank you for your concern, but I heal quickly and the mages here are more than adept with spirit magic. It’s good to know this place is run a bit differently."

"But it wasn't your thoughts. I help the pain; those who need it and _his_ pain is greater." Cole gestured towards the Commander, "I just want to help."

"Leave it be, _Cole_." Cullen warned.

The naive assassin bowed his head, large hat obscuring his face before his presence was a mere after thought; a glimpse in time soon forgotten.

"I'm glad to hear you’re alright." Cullen's gaze fell to his feet, a loose pebble bouncing against his foot as he kicked it in mild frustration, "I am also aware we have many highly competent mages amongst our ranks; who all of our wounded soldiers owe their life's to. _Please_ do not allow your knowledge of my past cloud your judgement on the person I am now, _Isala_."

Isala stilled when the Commander breathed her name, her chest tightening and transporting her back to being the young and foolish mage that appreciated the strapping Templar. While she happily melted as the syllables of her name rolled off of Cullen’s tongue, she sobered when she realised Cole had revealed slightly too much information. That was the Commander’s thoughts he’d shared, not hers; meaning they were as conflicted as each other.

She turned to give Cullen her full attention, realising her attire wasn’t particularly suited to the task which was sparing. The Dalish influenced Warden armour she wore was built for comfort and freedom of movement, not to protect from a blow a staff or blunted dagger could deliver. She felt foolish for a moment before the feeling soon passed.

"Shall we start over then?" She asked him, and the weight of a decade hung on the syllables of her question.

The period of time apart hung in the air with Isala’s unexpected offer; the Commander unable to declare innocence when he too had been unkind the last time they saw each other. He couldn’t begin to appreciate what it would be like to witness someone he loved fall victim to torture and fail to recognise them.

Cullen hesitated, shoulders deflating as he released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “Maybe not start over, but I would appreciate a clean slate.” He could never forget what they shared, nor would he _want_ to.

As the gentle affirmation escaped the Commander’s lips, he noticed the petite elf sigh with a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. He vowed to himself to fight the fear inside, which was screaming for him to run. _Escape_. No longer would he be bound by the ties that held tethered him to his past; preventing him from moving on.

“I promise I’ll try not to stutter when I speak to you from now on.” Cullen smiled genuinely.

The weight of ten years suddenly lifted from the warden’s shoulders; her introverted Templar had grown older, wiser, and even more handsome through the passage of time. His worthy traits remaining and the bad seemingly disappearing in her absence.

Isala cheeks flushed as her smile echoed his own. "You seem to be making good on that promise thus far."

A soft and repetitive clicking of a tongue against teeth drew her from the daydream of the human Commander and back to the crisp morning air. Silvhen was still sitting comfortably in the dirt before her and it seemed a small crowd had started to gather around the sparring ring.

The Grey Warden coughed as she shook the Commander’s spell he’d unintentionally cast on her attention. She focused on her younger adopted brother who was wearing a smug grin, offering a hand to help the elf to his feet.

“Oh _no_ , don’t mind me. I was enjoying the show,” The ego wounded elf spat sarcastically, “But since you have gathered such a crowd why don’t the both of you put it to good use, hm? Show these people what the great Commander of the Inquisition and the Hero of Ferelden are capable of.” Silvhen smiled tightly, waiting for either to reply.

“What an absurd suggestion; it would not only be unfair to pit us against one another, but Isala isn’t even dressed correctly for such an activity.”

“She was perfectly fine sparring me, Commander. I believe you’re afraid she’ll beat you in front of all your scouts.” Silvhen gestured to the small crowd which had now doubled in size, “And you’re perfectly capable of removing your armour to make it a fair fight; I think we’d all love to see you out of that fur.”

The pale-haired elf felt the dormant heat in the apples of her cheeks spread across her entire face at Silvhen’s suggestion. The opportunity of sparring with the illustrious Commander excited her, but the chance to see him sans armour sent that excitement to the center of her stomach which coiled in unheeded tension; causing her blush to continue to the tips of her ears.

“Makers breath, this is ridiculous.” Cullen breathed exasperated, turning his gaze to Isala for a response to her brother’s ludicrous suggestion.

Isala considered conjuring a boulder from the Fade to drop on Silvhen's head, or even causing a well-placed Veilstrike to smother him into the mud. The thought was strong enough to cause her fingertips to tingle with unspent magic as she wished the Fade would swallow her whole.

"I don't know _Commander_ ; I think it's a perfectly fair fight." Isala smiled coyly, as she stretched out her fingertips by her sides. "You can keep the armour if it makes you feel better."

Isala shot Cullen a teasing smile, but it was to hide the torment she felt inside. She worried that the Commander had become _too_ serious, too set in his ways being such a high rank in the Inquisition so her willingness to be jovial could be misconstrued as childish irresponsibility.

Cullen deliberated for a moment, pursing his lips before a slight smirk took them. He clenched his fists and the unyielding leather of his gloves refused to comply. He removed the restricting articles and with bare hands, he moved to unbuckle the metal armour that would restrict sparring.

“Apparently we’re being ridiculous today.” The Commander grinned before the last piece of metal was placed in a neat pile.

The surrounding crown suddenly grew quiet, shocked that the usually formal and professional Commander wasn’t marching away in irritation. It wasn’t long before there were careless whispers that were interpreted in the gathering; ending with the truth being twisted. Unaware of the rumours that had begun around him, Cullen pulled the jerkin of his armour off to reveal the tunic he wore beneath, raising the material slightly to show a glimpse of the toned muscle that was normally concealed.

“Well, I didn’t expect _that_ under there.” Silvhen muttered.

Isala watched in quiet fascination as Cullen did the very last thing she expected of him. She licked her lips as the last of his accoutrements were discarded and realized she'd had her mouth slightly agape the entire time. When his hands peeled the final layer of leather free, however, she sucked in a nearly noticeable breath; mouth going dry as she bit her tongue to stop herself audibly agreeing with her sibling.

“Just one rule; No _magic_.” Cullen requested, keeping his voice light when in actuality he was slightly afraid.

The Grey Warden pulled herself from her wayward thoughts; blocking her emotions and desires as the leader of the Inquisitions army climbed into the temporary training ring set out in Skyhold’s courtyard. She watched carefully as the Commander rolled his shoulders in preparation, loosening his muscles. As Isala opportunely ogled Cullen in his natural state, a scout distracted her gaze as they equipped him with a blunted sword and shield.

"As you command." She breathed to steady her beating heart, sauntering over to the edge of the ring before pointing to a quarter staff which laid carelessly aside a weapon rack. She was proficient with a sword, yet felt true to herself with the six-foot stick as a weapon; the satisfying knowledge that she could best someone in combat with mere firewood made her choice of weapon easier.

Isala spared Silvhen a glance and tilted her chin up, motioning for him to get lost or get trampled. She then turned her full attention back to Cullen, "On your guard, Commander." She teased, twirling the staff once around to test its balance before dropping into a stance that spoke of a woman well versed in combat.

“Yeah, don’t worry; I’m _moving_ ,” Silvhen made to leave the ring, turning his attention to Cullen, “Oh, and Commander? She’s stronger than she looks, don’t underestimate her.”

Once the assassin exited the training ring, Cullen shifted his stance to prepare for the battle. He was busy deciding how to play out the next few minutes; whether to try his best for the respect of his scouts, or to go easy on the Elven Warden.

“So, how are we-“

The Commander’s question was cut off when the agile elf charged at him, not holding back in her attack leaving Cullen little time to react. His sword rose instinctively, the sound of metal and wood clashing echoed throughout the walls of Skyhold.

The petite elf was close to him now, her fiery nature toying with his resolve. Cullen pushed against his sword, sending Isala back a number of steps before swiping his sword. Isala effortlessly countered the move with her staff, twirling the sword around its base until it faced away from her. Cullen had no time to respond before the rigid wood connected with the back of his leg.

Instead of reacting to the throbbed pain delivered by the blow, Cullen attempted to save himself from falling, discarding his shield to grasp the training ring’s edge with his now free hand. Quickly righting himself, he delivered a number of moves in quick succession, invoking a roar from the eager crowd. He was comfortable now, ready for whatever the elf could throw at him. Isala had been able to use his hesitance to her advantage and deliver the first few blows easily, but now he was matching the warden’s ferocity with the attacks.

Isala whipped her staff overheard to block an overhand swing from Cullen, his blunted sword chipping away a piece of wood from her sturdy weapon. She smiled, happy the Commander wasn’t going easy on her and pushed back against the sword, dislodging the weapon from her staff as she effortlessly twirled the shaft to gain better leverage before connecting the end of the weapon with the human’s unprotected side.

Cullen stumbled with the sudden blow, exhaling as it caught him by surprise; barely able to react as the warden pressed forward, forcing her staff into the ground as an anchor allowing her to lift her body and swing her bare foot to kick the same side she’d only a moment ago hit.

The muttering of the surrounding crowd swelled into a thunderous applause as Isala delivered the audible blow; the flesh on Isala’s foot slapping against the thin material of Cullen’s tunic, noticing the unyielding muscle that laid beneath tense and absorb the impact an instant before his hand came down to pin her ankle against his tender rib. Isala hopped once on her free leg before the Commander tugged her, sending her stumbling right into him.

Her staff fell to the floor as she fell against Cullen’s chest, her hands splayed on his pectoral muscles as her bare foot slipped in the wet soil with the Commander’s hold on her thigh the only thing keeping her upright. The sudden change in who held the upper hand winded the Grey Warden, panting to regain her breath and bearings. They were close, their bodies millimetres away from each other with their lips close enough to kiss; her new vantage point allowing Isala to notice the fine lines that graced Cullen’s face, and how he matched her breathing as he wore a ghost of a smile.

"The scar is new." Isala murmured so that only he could hear. "I _like_ it."


	11. Chapter 11

Cullen’s grip tightened on the elf’s thigh, making Isala’s breathing catch as a flush of colour spread across her face. Only seconds had transpired yet to the Commander it felt like hours, staring into the tropical blue eyes of _his_ warden. The scowl marring his face had started to soften as the elf used Cullen’s hold on her thigh to her advantage, wrapping her nimble body around him causing them both to plummet to the ground.

As the dirt covered floor rushed to connect with their backs, Cullen instinctively pulled Isala to his chest in an attempt to protect her from the sudden collision. A cloud of disturbed dust surrounded the two bodies; soon dissipating to reveal the Warden straddling the Commander. The two continued to stare at each other, breathless as Cullen’s hands came to rest on the backs of Isala’s thighs, clenching momentarily before whipping his hands away as if he had touched acid.

Cullen’s hands had sent a thrill to coil in a warm knot in Isala’s middle, unable to quell the steadfast thoughts of being in a similar position with his hands holding fast to bare skin.

“I apologise,” Cullen panted, wishing he could move his hands back to their previous place, “I guess you win this round.”

The elf was smiling broadly at the Commander's admission of defeat as she relearned how to breathe.

"Apology not accepted or necessary." Isala blurted without thinking. Her voice was husky and carried a weight with it that spoke of years of unheeded tension, "Are you so quick to surrender, Commander?" She breathed into Cullen’s ear shifting momentarily causing him to wince.

Isala quirked an eyebrow in question before sliding her hand beneath the loose fittings of the Commander’s tunic, gliding over the perfectly toned muscle there and forcing herself to ignore them to check his battered side. Her fingers gently rubbed the swollen skin which both her staff and foot had hit, with Cullen straining and biting his lip to contain the pain.

"I don’t think they’re broken, just bruised. Forgive me, I've always found it difficult to hold back.” The Warden admitted.

He was finding it difficult to hold back himself. Skin on skin contact had both excited him yet terrified him, fear suddenly flashing across his eyes as he worried that Isala would use healing magic. He sighed with relief as Isala began to move her hand, answering his unasked question.

Before she could fully retrieve her hand Cullen moved quickly to grasp her wrist, holding her hand in place, “Please. I trust you.” The Commander steeled his jaw, wanting to overcome his fear of not only magic, but also the woman atop him. He pressed down on the back of the Warden’s hand against his aching side, to offer gentle affirmation as apprehension flitted across Isala’s delicate features.

Isala stilled when Cullen stopped her from removing her hand; his eyes forcefully holding her attention even though she didn’t dare move away. The three simple words he muttered held her in the trance, words she never imagined to hear spoken from the Commander’s lips. _I trust you._

“I’m afraid I’d make a poor nursemaid, Cullen.” She whispered solemnly, she knew a handful of minor healing spells, yet the tension surrounding the Commander’s eye’s told her it was the last thing he wanted her to do.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Idrilla swore in common, causing the horde of spectators to wince, “Back to your duties, now!” She barked, every person scattering in the blink of an eye.

She moved to the training ring and effortlessly jumped over the railing, approaching her sister who was currently straddling the Commander.

“Why has half of Skyhold notified me you two are trying to kill each other? When in actual fact you appear to need the privacy of your quarters?” Idrilla’s brows were knitted together, both in concern and annoyance.

The brass accusation of her sister made Isala’s lips curl in a smile, "Is that what they're saying?" She tried to make her voice light, her hand still rubbing gently against the Commander's side. "I think perhaps you need to have a word with your Spymaster, _lethalin_ , lest you allow yourself to believe everything you're told from second-hand sources."

 _“Asa'ma'lin,_ you give me no credit. Do you honestly think I’d believe such absurdity?” Idrilla laughed and shook her head in disbelief, “After the eighth scout decided to tell me you were killing each other I thought I’d come and watch the show, bring snacks perhaps. The rumour that you both were going to have sex however, well…” Idrilla forced a tight lipped smile as she gestured to the compromising position they were in.

Cullen was in a trance, still laying on the floor as he enjoyed the soothing feeling of Isala’s hands on his side. He was enraptured by the way her lips parted and the way she breathed his name, quelling the nightmares that were begging to pull him back. He was starting to break free.

“Maker, are they really saying that?” The Commander sighed as realisation took over, wincing as he tensed his muscles, “I find Isala has done some real damage to my ribs.”

 “Well _I_ find it really awkward talking to you whilst my sister is almost… _cowgirling_ you right now.” Idrilla complained, turning her head away slightly to try and supress the thought that had already been burnt to memory.

“What in Andraste’s name do you…” Cullen began to question before he realised what the Inquisitor was saying, “Oh, I _see_.”

Isala bit her lip to keep from giggling and there was no suppressing the crimson flush that stained her face, causing her pale vallaslin to stand out against the blush. The situation had spiralled so far out of control the absurdity of it was too amusing to ignore.

" _Ir abelas_ , it was not my intention to cause you distress." Isala apologized through stifled giggles making Cullen wince momentarily in pain, "Am I hurting you? Perhaps this isn't the best position for us to remain in, Commander." She offered, the last thing she wanted was to move, yet she understood the position was hardly comfortable considering his injury.

The warden began to rise slowly, rolling back to steady herself on her heels. She realised Cullen was still holding her hand in place, practically refusing to let her stand. The Commander found himself in the unfortunate situation to either allow Isala to rise to her feet and show the few bodies surrounding them, including the Inquisitor, the tent he was sporting in front of his trousers; or pull the elven Warden back to straddle him again.

He eventually chose the latter, “I imagine if you move your hand, I won’t be able to get up just yet.” The Commander blurted, as his hand was firm on the elf’s hip to keep her in place.

“Do you want me to heal you so you can stand?” Idrilla asked, oblivious to the situation the Commander was in.

“No, I’m sure I’ll be fine. The pressure is helping.” Cullen lied, hoping Isala wouldn’t notice.

Isala absently listened to Idrilla and Cullen speaking, her mind concentrating on the sudden movement of the Commander and the human’s large hand on her hip. Confusion flittered across her eyes before understanding soon followed, the Warden unable to stop her lips parting to form a little O at the not-so-little discovery. Isala flushed in second hand embarrassment, unable to hide the slight smile of flattery that she had put the Commander in such a state without hardly trying.

“Please, Commander, you’re almost being exhibitionists.” Idrilla pleaded, before realisation crossed her features.

Not wanting to make the Commander feel more awkward than he already did, Idrilla wracked her brain in attempt to help him, “Iron Bull naked doing the windmill.” Idrilla blurted, “Oh god,” She cried after, bursting into laughter at the image in her mind.

At Idrilla's mention of the Iron Bull Isala winced, having only met the Qunari once and now having _that_ mental image playing on her mind the next time they spoke "Oh? Eh- Oh no... I believe I may have a solution to _both_ situations." Isala offered, not even wanting to dwell on what she was about to do.

The Warden sighed, knowing what she was about to do would be two steps back in the journey to heal their wounded relationship, yet she decided this was better than any other outcome. Isala inhaled deeply, focusing as her hand grew warm on her exhale; fingers flitting in intricate lines to trace a healing glyph onto the human’s damaged side, magic oozing to repair the damaged flesh.

Isala felt the Commander tense and he squeezed Isala’s hips, his finger’s almost breaking skin that laid beneath her light clothing. The realisation of what Isala was doing had acted as the deterrent he needed, figuratively throwing a pale of ice water on his sordid thoughts and saving him from the embarrassment of revealing himself.

As the gentle glow of healing magic faded through the thin material of his tunic, he could feel the pull of his nightmare clawing at his heart, coaxing him to fall in to the abyss that was his suffering. Cullen hadn’t expected the sudden magic but instead of falling victim to the darkness that called, he focused on her.

The Isala he fell in love with and the Isala in front of him now. A decade apart but one of the same.

The longer hair, the intricate, pale blue tattoo that graced her forehead and chin. _Her eyes._ They were his focus to keep him grounded. Yet the Commander was still fighting with himself; his mind pleading with him to push the mage away, yet his heart wanted to pull her close; relish in the feel of her curves pressed against him.

“You can stop,” Cullen forced through a grimace, trying to swallow the desire to scream, “It’s not as bad now.”

At his request Isala allowed the gentle green glow fade away before she reluctantly pulled her hand from his skin.

Isala jumped to her feet, "You have my apologies, Commander. I'll endeavour to never place you in such a predicament ever again." She declared flatly, refusing to meet his eyes.

The pale-haired elf turned her attention to her adoptive sibling. " _Ir felasil_ " She choked before nodding to Idrilla. "By your leave, Inquisitor."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to the few who may stumble across this fic! Thank you for taking the time to read this silly idea I had and to those who have left Kudos, it really does help keep the creative juice's flowing so to speak. So, the previous chapters and the next few chapters are pretty much Cullen/Isala based and will focus primarily on them, but the other two relationships will begin to sift in here and there before they become more predominant. And here is my first attempt at delving into digital art! So happy to be adding a visual aspect into my work. Once again the wonderful Breathing2nd features as Isala. All the loooooooove <3

                                                               

 The soft crease between Cullen’s eyebrows deepened as his confusion grew. What once was harmless fun between Isala and himself had now been replaced with a negative energy, the rare moment of happiness they shared now crumbled away to join the dirt on the floor and formality soon took its place.

The Inquisitor held out her hand to help the Commander to his feet, the tiny elf surprisingly more than capable to support his weight. Idrilla's eyes betrayed her as she showed nothing but concern, vaguely concealed by her inquisitorial mask.

"You may have the rest of the day to yourself if you require it, Commander," Idrilla offered, tilting her head to consider him, "though I suppose you’d rather hurry back to work."

Cullen briskly nodded his head, the pain in his side had faded but had not disappeared, "It would be best for me to get back to my men, Inquisitor."

Idrilla nodded her head in understanding and turned to leave with Isala mimicking the movement a moment later, her eyes downcast in what appeared to be disappointment.

Cullen's hand shot out to grab the elf's wrist, fully knowing she could retaliate and break his arm within seconds, "it will take time, Isala," he hurried before the Warden could do lasting damage, "I still want to have a clean slate, and this happens to be a part of that. Unless you would prefer to change your mind and do otherwise."

Isala’s gaze fell to the much larger hand that enveloped her wrist, tentative yet reassuring like his velvety voice; it offered no comfort for the Grey Warden, only remorse and confusion. The urge to kiss the human who’d played on her mind for ten years and to forget all that had happened, to admit that she had never once forgotten him or lost hope. She always dreamed that there would be a time they could be together to love each other freely without prejudice.

Instead, she smiled wistfully letting her hand slip into his. "Grey Warden's aren't permitted certain luxuries, Cullen...and I'm afraid time is the greatest of them all. I want nothing more than to wipe clean the years we've left behind. But..."

Her voice trailed off into silence, she didn't know whether the Commander knew a Grey Warden’s fate and didn't want to be the bearer of such news. He had already so much to deal with that she couldn't add the waning of her life to that weight.

"Well...I fear we've both duties, Commander." Isala admitted, attempting to cut through the thick tension in the air.

Cullen chose to ignore their responsibilities within the inquisition and stilled in his moment of reflection. He asked himself why time was a luxury for the Grey Wardens and suddenly, he struggled to breath as the realisation stole the ability from him.

_Grey Warden’s had shortened lifespans._

Each harrowing aspect of a Grey Warden’s life came to the forefront of his mind with each realisation breaking his heart as he made the connection with Isala’s fate.

Unknowing whether the elf could live another twenty years, or maybe even two; Cullen ached with the absence of knowledge on the topic. He knew the interaction with darkspawn severely impacted the span, and almost sighed in relief when he remembered Isala had been with the Inquisitor’s clan since the fifth blight. That could mean she’d have longer. Even if her life could be cut drastically short; he wanted to be the one to share it with her no matter how long it would be.

“I find myself only now realising the sacrifice Grey Warden’s take when they undergo the Joining,” Cullen shook his head to quell the daunting thoughts and possible realities, “you have only just re-entered my life and I feel like I am losing you again.” He whispered, barely audible but just loud enough for the Warden to hear.

The elf felt her steeled emotions begin to break again as she held his gaze; his words made the fractured pieces of her heart flutter with his gentle words.

"You never lost me, Cullen." She confessed, "But I'd rather not pretend. I thought I had made peace with it, but seeing you here now..." She drifted into silence once again, unable finish the sentence.

Isala wasn't a defeatist by nature, but a life with Cullen seemed as unattainable as a cure for the Calling itself. A sudden gust of wind rustled the light clothing of both the Commander and Warden, blowing an errant tendril of Isala’s stark blonde hair into her face and disrupting a few of Cullen’s meticulously styled blond curls.

Cullen’s hand absently moved to brush the errant wisp of Isala’s hair behind her ear, resting his palm on the soft of her cheek, brushing the smooth skin with his thumb. The tender act was an unnatural sight to witness, but the human and elf were free from prying eyes since the training field had been abandoned thanks to the Inquisitor’s reprimand.

“I can appreciate that you have made peace with the realities of being a Grey Warden, and I would never ask you to go against that,” The Commander smiled genuinely, considering what to say next “but… I’m not pretending. Maker knows what will happen, but I would like to find out where this could lead.”

Isala held her breath as Cullen’s soft admission filled her heart with hope; the Commander surprised her by continuing the story they both believed was long ended. She had dreamed of a life where they could be together without the judgement and controversy looming over them, but she never realised it could be _this_ life.

“Ew, get a room.” Sera gagged as she fell over her own feet passing the two, fatigue still showing in her eyes, “Ser Fancy pants and Fereldy making puppy eyes and not doing anything about it? Friggin’ daft that.” The blond elf stifled a yawn and left the Commander and Warden alone once more.

Isala smiled at being caught doing exactly what the elven archer accused; making _puppy_ eyes. Isala’s warden personality suddenly took over and she scolded herself for continuing to waste time; they were no longer adolescents and Isala decided she didn’t have time to ask herself _what if._

"She's right you know..." Isala stated, her eyes following the other elf's passage across the courtyard before focusing back on the Commander.

Cullen wore a soft scowl of confusion on his face as he tried to understand what the Warden could mean. Before she could overthink it Isala claimed what space remained between them and lifted herself on the tips of her toes, almost matching his height as she kissed him cautiously; almost asking if the small act was acceptable.

As the gentle caress of the Wardens’ lips ghosted against the Commander’s, he breathed in the air she’d stolen through his nose, exhaling whilst relaxing into the embrace. He thought it would petrify him; that the small gesture would end regressing him back to his insanity, but it did the opposite. Rather than wallow in the knowledge of what could be, he could relish the moment and take solace from the elven mage.

 _Mage_ ; the sheer mention of the word that would once tarnish any relationship no longer had the suffocating effects. Although the threat remained he felt it contained no malice, only warning. The Commander’s hands which were awkwardly fiddling with the edges of the Wardens attire soon found a home on the elf’s nape, pulling her in to deepen the kiss and to ease the tension and uncertainty she held within her posture.

As Isala relaxed against the strong contours of the human, Cullen pulled back resting their foreheads together whilst keeping the blushing elf’s gaze, “she was definitely right, _for once._ ” Cullen half smiled, his eyes now tracing the lines of Isala's vallaslin, “Maker’s breath, you're even more beautiful than I remember.”

Isala’s eye’s flitted to the floor as her face grew warm, "You're not so bad yourself." She breathed, her fingers toyed absently with the curls of his hair where she'd managed to wrap her arms over each shoulder, " _People_ are going to talk you know." She cautioned.

The Commander thought for a moment as he assessed the space surrounding them; he felt they were almost being ignored even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Eyes were constantly watching, sneaking glances and sourcing titbits of scandalous information which could later stoke the fire that was Skyhold’s gossip network.

“It’s not like they don’t talk already; it’ll be nice to hear a rumour regarding myself which is partially true for once,” Cullen smirked, suppressing the urge to laugh, “Although I wouldn’t like people to speak of us, I’d rather that than to have nothing for them to talk about.” The Commander admitted with a half-smile.

“What rumours are they?” Isala pried, the comment distracting her.

Cullen laughed to himself, unsure whether to divulge the gossip himself, “It has been said that I was betrothed to some maiden in Ferelden, that’s why I would reject any female advances. It would not stop the noble women from trying though.” The Commander grimaced at the thought. “It eventually led to people believing that I preferred the company of men.”

Isala chuckled softly as her hands tracing idle lines at the base of his neck. "I can't say that I blame them for trying. I'm rather surprised no one's managed to catch your eye all these years."

“When you hold feelings for someone else it distracts you.” Cullen stated without pause, a knowing look made the elf enveloped in his arms blush, “Unfortunately though I find our free time together has run out and our responsibilities require our attention.”

Reluctantly the Commander loosened his grip on Isala allowing her to step free from the embrace; the chill of the bitter morning air weaving through his tunic with the petite elf’s absence.

He expected her life as a Grey Warden to have worn on the elf he once knew so many years ago; yet all he saw before him was the confident mage he _loved_ in the circle.

The wind whipped around the training field again, in a sudden onslaught to find new victims to assault with its perishing temperature. Cullen moved to his amour and began to redress, meticulously attaching the pieces efficiently. “Believe it or not I… enjoyed sparing with you. It would be nice to do it again but without the crowd.”

Isala shivered at the thought of sparring alone with the Commander, imagining what could happen since they had shared a kiss. She blushed at the thought, enough to colour her pale face and pointed ears. She breathed steadily as she watched Cullen redress in an attempt to distract her from her errant imagination.

"I'll be ready when you are, _Commander_." She purred, a knowing smile toying with the corners of her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are extremely appreciated and I will love you forever <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hero of Ferelden has suspicions about the other resident Grey Warden in her sister's Inquisition and she needs to find out the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing Breathing2nd features again as Isala <3

The Herald's Rest was crowded at dinnertime; typical with the promise of food and bitter ale. Isala preferred the buzz of so many voices to the quiet of dining alone. She'd grown used to being surrounded by others; by her fellow mages in the circle, by Ferelden soldiers when she became a Grey Warden, by her companions through the fifth Blight, and most recently, by clan Lavellan. Now it seemed Skyhold was where her new home was; at least while it lasted.

She hadn't planned on speaking with him here or even in this moment, but Isala understood better than most, that one didn't always have time to plan out the details. Sometimes, all she had were a few precious moments.

Something had been nagging her in the back of her mind ever since meeting the other Grey Warden among Idrilla's new companions. He called himself _Blackwall_ , and Isala couldn't for the life of her remember why that name had sounded so familiar. Then, like a shock to the system she'd recalled the very man the moniker belonged to, and it wasn’t the man traveling with the Inquisition.

Isala took a calculated seat next to the man with what was a stolen name at best, and a stolen life at worst. Ale appeared before her, courtesy of the bartender and she gave him an appreciative nod as she clasped the stein in her slender hand. Blackwall regarded her then, as if only just noticing her, and Isala raised her drink to him slightly; a gesture he mirrored.

"Warden Blackwall." She smiled faintly, but hardly meant it. If this man was lying, she meant to get to the root of it.

The human warden continued to hold his superior’s gaze, understanding that Isala hadn’t dropped by for a visit or friendly chat; he knew from her body language that she meant business. His palms grew warm as he broke eye contact, feeling his throat clench in slight panic as he considered why Isala had appeared to be looking for him.

“Warden-Commander, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”  Blackwall slurred slightly, it was barely noticeable but it revealed he’d had a few drinks.

He risked a second glance at the other warden, expecting her to no longer be staring but he was wrong. Isala wore a blank expression as she continued to focus on Blackwall, suggesting she was planning her next move. He swallowed the lump of dread in his throat and turned his body to Isala, preparing himself for her answer.

Isala regarded the human with her pale aquamarine eyes. He certainly looked the part of a Grey Warden- he was a sturdy sort of fellow. Gruff, respectful, with an undeniable military air about him. Still, there was something about the man that itched the elven mage right between the shoulder blades.

Something she didn’t like.

“I thought it was time we sat together for a little chat, _don’t_ you?” Isala gave him a sideways glance. “You are the resident Grey Warden in my sister’s Inquisition and as a Warden Commander, I feel it only fitting we get to know one another.”

The elf took a long sip from the tankard before her and smiled. To any onlookers, it would have seemed as if she and Blackwall were getting along cordially; simply two people enjoying a drink and conversation.

That was what Isala thought, at least. The pair of Grey Wardens were that tiny bit too close at the bar, their shoulders brushing against one another as they continued with small talk. Others in the bar were curious about the new elf that had joined the inquisition but wasn’t interested in prying, leaving them in relative privacy, without rumours being made about the nature of their relationship.

Blackwall turned his attention from Isala for a moment, checking why the tavern door was abruptly slammed shut but he found no reason as to why, and the other patrons didn’t seem to pay the disruption any mind.

“If that is what you want Warden-Commander, I am happy to oblige.” He admitted casually, his respect for authority prudent in his reply. “What would you like to know?”

Blackwall wanted to keep the peace with Isala, even though he was terrified she was going to discover his secret and jeopardise any future he could have in the inquisition. What if Isala knew the _real_ Blackwall, and not the wolf in sheep’s clothing that sat beside her. He shook his head to dispel the torment in his mind and focused on the steadfast Warden once more, realising she was still thinking of what to ask.

Would she be straightforward and call him out? Or would she prolong the inevitable? He didn't know what Isala would do and that terrified him.

Isala wondered briefly, if tact was the best approach to this situation. After all, she didn't truly know the man's intentions or motivations. She barely knew him. Still, Isala knew the value of time better than most and with the world balanced on the edge of a blade, she couldn't risk her sister's life to tact.

The Grey Warden turned her pale stare on the gruff human beside her. She let him feel the full weight of her gaze and all humour drained out of her face.

"For starters, who are you?" She demanded, but before he could reproach her she let him know that insisting on his lie was not the right answer. "I knew Warden Blackwall...and you're _not_ him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated! <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I knew Warden Blackwall...and you're not him."_

The Warden Commander uttered the one sentence he never wanted to hear.

_You’re not him._

His chest tightened in panic and the wooden walls of the tavern slowly felt as if they were closing in on him, suffocating the warden in his extravagant lie. Blackwall stayed quiet for as long he could, his silence confirming Isala’s suspicions; catching him red-handed.

The gruff man sighed and held his head low, the memories of how he came to be known as Warden Blackwall surfacing to the forefront of his mind whilst it slowly ate away at his stoic resolve.

“"I enlisted in the Orlesian imperial army; learning my skill through them. My dedication to the job meant they respected me, regardless of my roots. I eventually became a Captain too- it was a proud moment for me, but... my men and I were tricked. An innocent man and his family; his _children_ , slaughtered." Blackwall's voice lowered to barely a whisper, attempting to save himself from falling into the abyss of sorrow he felt deep in his heart. "I was a coward, milady. I ran and let my men take the blame."

The male Grey Warden paused briefly to peer at his superior. Her expression was unreadable, a perfected poker face unwilling to reveal the Warden-Commander's feelings.

Blackwall sighed, collecting his thoughts, "I met Warden-Constable Blackwall by chance. A good man who saw far more in me than I did myself. He wanted to recruit me- _me_ ; I was honoured." The human paused to cough, hiding the choking feeling he felt in his throat, "On our journey to the Warden stronghold in Val Chevin, we stopped by a deep road entrance on the Storm Coast. He sent me in to retrieve Darkspawn blood for my joining but- we shouldn't have stopped! If we hadn't a great man would still be alive today! But no, he sacrificed himself for me. So I thought I would carry on his work, to do good in honour of the fallen Warden who believed in me."

A moment later a heavy fist slammed on the wooden bar, the crash of metal against wood silencing the entire bar before a gentle chatter resumed. Blackwall clenched his fist a few more times before he distracted his hand with a tankard, the steady throb of pain in his hand calming the anger and anguish he hid.

Isala listened closely to his confession and was one of the only people in the room who didn’t flinch at the sound of his fist colliding against the bar. The elven mage mulled over his words for a few moments, watched him take a long draw off his tankard, and then she shifted on the stool to face him. Her slender hand moved, slowly covering the human man’s much larger one, and she let her fingers rest against the rough warmth of his knuckles where they wrapped around the stein.

Blackwall’s eyes stared in what seemed to be confusion and silent disbelief at the mage’s small hand. Then he brought that war-weary stare up to her stoic face. She saw his lips part, the dark beard that covered his face trembling with an unspoken question.

Isala felt her expression soften and she gave the human’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We all have a past we’d rather pretend didn’t happen.” She began. “But it’s these very events that shape us, mould us into who we are. Often, doing what is right, is doing what is not easy.”

The Warden-Commander continued to comfort the hulking man as she reassuringly squeezed his hand; choosing to forego her Grey Warden duties as she offered a moment of understanding.

***

Cullen had been busy for the morning after sparring with Isala. The time spent with the elven mage raw in his mind and clouding his thoughts as he worked, with the ghost of Isala’s lips pressed against his stealing a small smile as the memory resurfaced.

He’d never been so distracted from his duties and he worried slightly at the consequences that could arise, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. The chance of happiness within reach making his heart swell.

Cullen roamed Skyhold’s grounds mindlessly, enjoying the fresh and chilling feel of the mountain air as it laced around pillars and broken walls. After what seemed only a moment he found himself outside the door to the Herald’s Rest and he wondered why his mind would absently bring him to the tavern. He shrugged at the unease he felt at the back of his mind and opened the door; deciding to at least have a drink before returning to his responsibilities.

As he feet firmly planted on the slightly creaky floor of the tavern he caught a glimpse of bright blonde hair that was _too_ familiar, and also what he thought was _too_ close to the male Grey Warden. The sight contact of the Grey Warden’s through their hands shocked him still, too confused to move. The Commander took a moment to take in the sight before him before quickly leaving, the image of Isala and Blackwall sitting together in such an intimate way had burnt to memory and was slowly breaking his heart.

***

The elf lowered her voice, visibly jumping when the door of the tavern slammed closed. She decided to ignore the disruption in favour for her comrade.

“I do not think you a malicious sort. I do not believe you are here to do any more than what you have willingly pledged. I believe you genuinely wish to help my sister, and this facade allowed you to do that.” The elf let her hand slowly fall away and grasp her own forgotten ale. “I’ll not reveal you to her, however, if atonement is truly what you seek, you’ll not find it with a dead man’s name.”

Blackwall shot his head up in surprise, his shoulder sagged and he sighed deeply as relief washed over him. Isala was too kind. He knew as a Grey Warden she could be reprimanded for her actions, and his gratitude for them were evident on his face.

“Let me try and understand this. You _aren’t_ going to say anything? Keep this between _us_?” Blackwall rushed through his thoughts, the gift of secrecy Isala unknowingly bestowed had both confused and elated the battle worn Warrior. “ _Maker_ , it felt good to talk about this. Thank you, Warden-Commander. For _everything_.”

The human gently squeezed the elves much smaller hand in gratitude as he wore a gentle smile. He never expected this outcome; leniency and understand wasn't something to be expected from a superior. From that moment he began to see Isala in a new light, and that she was far more than a Grey Warden.

“So, milady. If I may speak _freely_ , I understand you are familiar with our Commander- _Cullen_?” Blackwall asked to sate his curiosity, the answer he wanted was easily found in the way Isala’s body language changed and the rush of colour to her pale cheeks. “That reaction answers my question. I feel it only fair to offer my ear if you should require someone to talk to.”

Isala felt herself blush at the implication the other Warden made.

She felt the heat rush all the way to the tips of her pointed ears and she didn't try to hid the girlish smile that distorted her stoic face.

"Yes, the Commander and I share a rather... _colourful_ past, in fact." Her smile remained but grew distant, wistful. "He was a Templar at the Circle I grew up in."

The elf took a short sip from her tankard, her eyes finding something interesting in the wood grain of the bar. "He was a light for me during what could have been a very dark time." _Even if things hadn't turned out for the best back then_. "Fate is a confusing mistress for sure..."


	15. Chapter 15

The Commander had hardly slept, spending the majority of the morning brooding about what he saw in the tavern a week prior. It was clear to him that something more was between Isala and Blackwall, and he wouldn’t be the one to stand between Isala and her happiness. He sighed as he continued to star at the wooden door across his desk before diverting his attention back to his reports, deciding it would be better to put his foul mood to good use.

A few moments passed in silence and a gentle rapping sounded on the door with the sound of hinges moving followed. The petite elf that clouded his thoughts all night had entered his office holding a cup with steam billowing from it and what looked to be a pastry stolen from the kitchen. The scent of Antivan coffee filled the room and the Commander’s stomach growled in anticipation for the rare treat.

“Perhaps these will help?” Isala asked as she placed them on his desk.

Cullen stared at the gentle ripple of the coffee's surface a moment before answering.

"You have no idea." He smiled tight lipped; his gaze focused on the petite elf before returning to the reports strewn across his desk.

The Commander wanted to keep his distance from Isala after seeing her closeness with the other resident Grey Warden. Although he was the one who shared a past with her; Blackwall could offer so much more with their joint affiliation, and a better understanding when the Calling came. He wished he imagined it but he was certain the scene he saw in the tavern was something between two people that knew each other intimately, and he was far too chivalrous to step on another man’s toes.

Isala tilted her head a little to the side; the long, pale braid slipping over her shoulder to hang loosely. Cullen had given her just the barest of smiles and the shortest of glances, he hadn't even touched the caffeine or pastry. The elf bit her bottom lip between her teeth and held it gently. Cullen had been more distant than usual, shorter in his reports and far more militant and curt if such a thing were possible. He wasn't bumbling in her presence anymore; rather he was simple avoiding it entirely. Something wasn't right, but she had no idea how to ask what it might be.

Her fingertips brushed the edge of a nearby scrap of parchment. Notes had been scribbled in neat but hurried script. "Anything I can help with?"

“I’m sure your time is better used by the Inquisitor, Isala.” Cullen breathed, her name stinging his lips since he’d not spoken it in a while, “I appreciate the offer though.” He added.

The Commander leaned back into his chair, stretching momentarily as he retrieved the coffee cup. He hastily took a sip before he continued to rifle through new papers and began to scribble down more notes. He continued for a moment longer before he noticed the Warden still standing at the other side of his desk, almost like she was waiting for him to say something.

“Is there something you require?” Cullen questioned, quirking an eyebrow as he sipped the strong beverage again.

Isala felt a perfectly sculpted eyebrow lift in question. Her lips tightened into a thin line and she bit back the sudden flare of hurt that threatened to upheave her stoic resolve.

"No... nothing," She replied, but her voice broke just a hair at the end betraying her.

She squared her shoulders and turned on her heels, resigned to leave. She'd made it to the door, hand brushing the handle… "Are you being cold for my benefit or your own, Cullen?"

She couldn't understand what had caused his sudden shift in demeanour. This wasn't the time to worry over such trivialities. He was right Idrilla needed her more, but Isala knew better than most and second chances were like wishes.

Rarely given and even more rarely granted.

Cullen's eyebrows creased at Isala's question. Had he been so cold? He knew himself it wasn't intended but he couldn't control how others felt.

"I... I um... didn't realise I had been." The Commander admitted, his hand massaging his neck as he sighed. "I didn't want to let my feelings for you ruin your-"

"Reports, sir." A scout interrupted, the sound of the door opening still echoed through the attic in Cullen's office.

"Place them on my desk, thank you." The Commander spat, clearly annoyed at the added paperwork.

"Let's talk elsewhere." Cullen suggested, leading Isala out of his office into the cool mountain air which was stronger on the ramparts.

It was cold that day, though sunny. The frigid air slapped the elf across her high cheeks, numbing her long ears where they stuck out from the loose gathering of pale hair. Her toes were starting to lose a little sensation where they peeked out from her wrapped feet and the greaves strapped over them.

She walked beside him, across the ramparts, her eyes scanning the vast, empty sky. Cullen remained silent and that silence was strained and awkward. Isala _didn't_ care for it one bit.

"You didn't want your feelings to ruin what?" She asked, picking up where his sentence had been interrupted earlier.

Cullen considered her for a moment, almost gawking when she didn't know what he was talking about. It was obvious to him she had been keeping the relationship a secret as she would have been more forthright if people had known.

"You don't have to feign oblivion for me, _Isala_. I just hope he makes you happy." The Commander smiled genuinely.

Cullen surprised himself; he meant every word he'd just said. He truly hoped she would be happy, even if it was heart-breaking for him.

The elven Warden felt her brows knit together as the confusion swept across her delicate features. She actually stalled in her steps, coming to a full stop so that she could face the human Commander.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Cullen. He who? What's this about?" She demanded, bewilderment colouring her voice.

She'd barely smiled at anyone save for Cullen since arriving at Skyhold. Her short time there was devoted solely to her siblings and to aiding the soldiers where she could. _How_ could he believe she had started a relationship with someone else?

 _Who_ , for that matter?

"Is this why you've been acting so odd these past few days? You _believe_ I'm involved with someone?”

“I saw you in the tavern with Blackwall the night after we sparred. The last thing I want is to ruin your happiness.” The Commander admitted.

Cullen clenched his fists to feel the unyielding leather creak in complaint at being stretched, the cold in the air seizing his knuckles. He let out a steady breath, causing a cloud of steam in the frosty air. He wanted to steady his heart which hoped and prayed he was wrong.

“I also thought I was being professional, so I apologise if it has appeared any other way.” Cullen mused, sighing as he concentrated his gaze on the brick of the rampart walls.

 _Blackwall_? The tavern? _Whatever_ had given him...

Isala remembered how close she'd been sitting to the gruff man. How she'd smiled sweetly as she threatened him. How she'd leaned in close to caution him against further deceit; and how she’d held his hand in reassurance. She hadn't even considered how it might appear to others.

Her brows were raised high in astonishment. What began as a look of surprise began to crack into a smile; then a giggle, and then full blown laughter.

"Oh, you beautiful fool." She tried to cover her laughter with the back of her hand and failed. "You thought- _Blackwall_? Because I'm a Grey Warden..." There was only relief and humour in her voice now. Her bright eyes fixating at last onto the molten depths of the Commanders.

"Cullen, you are mistaken...you couldn't be more wrong." She shook her head. "I am not in love with Blackwall, in any sense of the word." The elf paused, regaining her composure slightly as she added softly. "I have only ever _loved_ one person..."

Emotions flitted across his stern face which could have been considered comical; confusion, realisation, elation. The hard mask of the Commander broke as a sudden wave of relief washed over him, he couldn't suppress his happiness at being entirely wrong and his face broke into an embarrassed, yet genuine smile before he too smirked at the audacity.

"I happen to have only ever loved one person, too." Cullen breathed, the proximity of the two closing. “I’m sorry.”

His fingers brushed away one of the stray tendrils of Isala's hair that had been swept up with the wind's current, resting his hand on the bare of her neck. Adoration and joy were evident in his eyes, before his face dropped once again.

"Wait- I have been holding back my feelings for you these past few days for no reason? I've wasted precious time with you when I could have just asked?" The Commander chastised himself, shaking his head. "Maker _preserve_ me."

When Cullen risked a glance at the petite elf he could see a faint smile on her lips; one of mockery and, what he hoped, _love_. Although he towered her in height, he pushed his hand further into Isala's hair and lowered his head to meet her lips in the barest of kisses before-

" _Commander_!" A scout barked, report held in his left hand as he approached the two. "You wanted a copy of sister Leliana's report."

"What." The Commander demanded, snapping his head in the scout’s direction.

"Sister Leliana's report? You wanted it delivering _'without delay'_?" The Scout answered, unaware of what he had interrupted until Cullen glowered at him, "or... to your office... _right_."

Isala had just parted her lips for him when the interruption came. When the scout arrived with his reports there was such venom in the single word that fell from Cullen's mouth.

She had to bite her lip to hold in the giggle that threatened to spill out. She tried not to focus too much on the poor soldier who had just felt the wrath of his Commander's hard gaze. Her eyes rolling up and around to try and focus on the sky, the stone floor, anything but the awkward exchange.

When the scout finally backed away and into the office, the Grey Warden eased out a sigh. "I don't want to interrupt your day." She murmured and then added, "I know you're busy."

The elf tried to breathe in a steadying breath. She tried to calm her racing heart and cool the heat creeping up her ears, and attempt to compose herself once more. Even with all of her Grey Warden training, she couldn't seem to completely quell the swarm of butterflies madly beating their wings inside her stomach.

Cullen had been busy staring at the wooden door the scout had escaped to when he heard Isala speak. He lazily moved his head to face her and waited until she had finish speaking and she looked ready to jump over the rampart wall in embarrassment. At least he wasn’t alone.

Before giving it a second thought and waiting for another interruption, the Commander stole the elf’s petite hand and pulled her flush to him with her forehead reaching his jawline. He tilted her chin up with more urgency than he had intended and pushed one hand into her hair with the other clenching her waist. He stole the kiss he’d wanted a moment earlier and more, consuming the Warden in a kiss which would leave them both breathless.

Cullen pulled away to press his forehead against Isala’s with his eyes closed, panting to regain some of the breath the elven mage had stolen.

“It feels like it’s been forever since we last kissed, it’s _nice_.” The Commander admitted, stealing another peck whilst in the moment. “I… I mean... it’s _more_ than nice… amazing in fact. Maker’s breath, I promised I wouldn’t stutter in front of you anymore.”

Isala was grinning like a fool. Her eyes beamed beneath the heavy fall of lashes as her gaze met his.

She shushed his ramblings with another brush of lips. "Oh I don't know...I always thought the stuttering was cute." She admitted, remembering the countless awkward conversations they had shared in the circle.

The elven Warden drew him back to her eager mouth with her hands locking behind his neck.

"You may kiss me, anytime you'd like, Commander." She promised, her voice dropping into an octave meant for whispers between lovers in the dark.

Cullen groaned unintentionally at Isala’s suggestive tone, his hands placed on her thighs; the same place he’d panicked about touching not a week earlier. This time instead of whipping his hands away he’d held firm, squeezing as a growl vibrated in his throat considering what could be.

The normally reserved Commander shocked himself, and no doubt Isala as he parted her thighs to wrap them around his waist, her back pressed firmly against a higher part of the rampart wall. Cullen had acted on impulse, enjoying the lithe elf so close to him without the prying eyes of an audience. He suppressed the urge to roll his hips into Isala considering it was broad daylight; but he could not help the thought crossing his mind.

“I would not complete any work if I kissed you anytime I’d like. _However_ , I will take you up on that offer now.” Cullen admitted as he gazed at Isala with hooded eyes and a half smile. He held her weight with one hand so he could bury the other in her hair once more, bringing her lips to his. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from Chapter 15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm an impatient SOB I decided to upload three chapters straight. IT'S 'COS I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER ~ I'm finally going to put that mature rating to good use *wink wink*

Her mouth moved against his, kisses becoming more urgent and greedy as she crossed her ankles around his waist. The armour they both wore made soft scraping sounds of metal sliding over metal. Her fingers were lost in the tangle of short curls that made up his usually tame hair. She was a teenager again, lost in the perfect embrace of this human man; swept away on the taste of his mouth and the feel of his strong arms holding her close. For a moment, it was as if no time had passed, when that couldn't have been farther from the truth.

The elven mage could not contain the grin that spread over her lips as she savoured every sweet kiss. "Well, it just so happens, the Inquisitor is a very good friend of mine." She murmured, kissing him between every few words. "I think she can forgive a little distraction."

Cullen smirked at the carefree attitude Isala had and embraced their adolescent act on the battlements. They were lost in the moment, enjoying one another’s company whilst throwing caution to the wind as the Commander’s inquisitorial façade continued to weaken.

A moment longer passed and the Commander broke the kiss he was suddenly distracted by a feeling of eyes watching and scoped their surroundings. Beside from the odd scout in the distance nothing seemed out of place, but he couldn’t shake the odd sense of unease.

Before he could spare another thought the sound of an apple being bitten cut through the silence and caused both Cullen and Isala to whip their heads to find the source. Blue viscous smoke billowed to reveal the form of a particular grinning elf, sitting happily on the rampart wall which would be considered dangerous if he wasn’t a rouge.

“Oh _please_ , don’t stop on my behalf. I find you both exceedingly entertaining.” Silvhen smirked swinging his leg, much to the couple’s chagrin at being caught.

“How long have you been here.” Cullen demanded, scowling at the smug elf.

“Not long enough I imagine, I wonder how far you two would have gotten.” The rouge pondered, pointing to Isala, “You’d have been naked by now if I hadn’t revealed myself. I had to intervene.”

Silvhen continued to eat his fruit whilst he sat in relative comfort as the awkward silence continued to stretch out, “You’ll be happy to know I’m not here to get any dirt on the two of you. Idrilla might be happy for Captain Stuffy Breeches over here to stop being so uptight but she needs to speak with you, Isala.”

"And you couldn't announce yourself like a normal person?" Isala scowled at her would-be-brother. She was still wrapped around the Commander like a boa constrictor and was reluctant to uncoil herself, but Silvhen wasn't one to spoil such a moment if it wasn't necessary. She knew the little sneak would have been perfectly content to continue snooping unnoticed.

Isala let out a long, begrudging sigh as she unhooked her ankles and slowly slid her legs down Cullen's body. When her bare feet touched the stone ramparts she spared a defiant look at her sibling before drawing the Commander's lips back to hers. She made sure to plant a promise in that kiss. This moment was simply paused- not over by a long shot.

"Later then..." It wasn't a question, and she grinned as she nuzzled the taller human with the tip of her nose against his.

Then, all that love and adoration drained from her face as she turned her attentions to Silvhen. Her hand traced a quick symbol by her side and with another flick of her wrist her magic had snatched the apple out of the rogue's hand and off the battlements. "Next time you decide to be a creep; _you'll_ be the apple." She warned.

“You deserved it” Silvhen reasoned defiantly. “The amount of times you stopped anything between Dorian and I in the past week alone; I _think_ I was owed some payback.”

Isala schooled her face into a hard, militant expression. Even if she were tempted to crack a smile at her little brother.

"The difference between you and I, _Sil_ , is that I don't let a little thing like _sibling interference_ deter me." She did let herself smile then. "I think you invite the interruptions, actually. I think you're too chicken shit to make a proper move on the Tevinter and if you really wanted him, you wouldn't let anything stand in your way."

By the time they'd reached Idrilla's door, Isala looked positively smug. "I assure you, da'len. I'll not make that mistake myself."

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. Although I love to annoy you, I didn’t mean to ruin your moment. Everyone has noticed the mood Cullen has been in so I hope you’ve sorted that out at least.” Silvhen was genuine in his apology, surprising them both, “And I will prove you wrong; I am _not_ chicken shit.”

Silvhen finished his sentence just as Idrilla was opening her door, “Oh good, you’re here. Follow me.”

“Hello to you too.” Silvhen muttered.

The Inquisitor waved her hand in disregard and shuffled past the other elves and gestured for them to follow. She remained quiet as she ate a pastry Sera no doubt stole from the kitchen and pressed on to reach the war room.

“What has you in such a rush?” Silvhen questioned, jogging to keep up with the Inquisitor.

“Am I rushing? I didn’t realise- “Idrilla admitted, pushing her weight against the heavy wooden door to see Josephine standing by her desk awaiting her arrival.

“Inquisitor, I’m glad you’re here. Commander Cullen and Sister Leliana have already arrived.” The Ambassador smiled, “Isala, you look positively radiant. If not slightly flustered, Is everything alright?”

“I noticed that.” Silvhen agreed knowingly, opening the war room door to see Cullen’s eye’s immediately shoot to Isala.

“And your clothes are creased.” Idrilla added, turning her gaze to Cullen, “Commander, I find you’re sporting a blush similar to Isala’s and- oh, what’s that? You have a little of Isala’s lip stain,” The elf gestured with her finger to her chin, “Just _there_.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up as well as his hand to wipe his chin, the leather of his glove coming back clean.

“Aha! _Gotcha_.” Idrilla giggled through her deceit, her plan to uncover the Commander and the Warden’s coupling working perfectly.

“Yes… Well… We received report back from our troops in the Western Approach and it has been confirmed that a large amount of Grey Wardens has moved there. It is best that we plan our next move and investigate the Tevinter ritual tower _Shroud_ mentioned.” Cullen attempted to ignore the heat rushing his face and be professional, _almost_ succeeding.

“Why are we all here then if that’s the reason for this meeting?” Silvhen asked, still confused as to why he’d been dragged along.

“Well, Isala has a personal interest in this and Josephine, Leliana and Cullen are my advisors. You’re here because you followed me.” Idrilla smirked.

Silvhen shook his head and made his way to the door, “Seriously, you’re an annoying brat.”

“Isala, you’re being awfully quiet.” Leliana mentioned as Silvhen left the room, her eyebrow quirked at her friend.

Isala realized she'd been staring at Cullen. Leliana's familiar voice drawing her from her trance-like state. She opened her mouth and closed twice before blushing, her eyes darting to her old friend.

"Am I?” She asked sheepishly. "My apologies. I seem to be distracted." Even Leliana was giving her a knowing grin and the Grey Warden felt her ears burn.

Isala took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. "Yes. Well, based on the reports you've received Commander, I would imagine it wise to set out for the Western Approach straight away."

Even as she said it, her heart fell to the floor. They'd only just found one another again; only just gotten back to a good place.

“I agree.” The Commander admitted, sharing the Warden’s dismay at being torn apart once more, “I suggest you alert your party Inquisitor that you shall be travelling tomorrow for the Western Approach.”

Idrilla pitied the two budding lovers, the journey would mean weeks apart, “You do know you’re not obligated to go, Isala. I just assumed with your affiliation you’d want to be there.” 

Isala's expression hardened. Her pale eyes sharpened as she focused on the Inquisitor. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm going." She affirmed. "I am a Grey Warden, Idrilla. This is bigger than I alone."

Idrilla smiled at the strong will of her elder sister, “Glad to know you’re on board, I shall inform Dorian and Sera- “

“Don’t you dare think you can leave me behind.” Silvhen’s voice echoed through the thick wooden door, eavesdropping at the other side of the door, “I’m not letting my family leave when there’s a chance they won’t come back.”

Cullen visibly swallowed a lump in his throat as Silvhen voiced his concern. He worried for the Inquisitor’s sake, considering her age and her importance; but his true fear laid with Isala, or more the fact she may not return.

“Nonsense, of course we will come back.” Idrilla reasoned, although the unease in her voice betrayed her, “ _Fine_ , you can join us.” She conceded.

“You change your mind just like that? It doesn’t show much confidence, _Da’len_.” Silvhen sympathised. 

“I know, but I would want you there with me.” A ghost of a smile traced Idrilla’s lips before she turned her attention to the advisors, “Feel free to spend the evening as you wish.”

Although the inquisitor had directed the offer to all three advisors’ she only focused her gaze on the Commander, a plea for her sister and also himself. She nodded her farewell and retreated from the war table heading for the door as Isala shot past her, surprising her and Silvhen.

“She’s in a hurry.” Silvhen commented.

The Commander was quick to follow but did not flee to avoid suspicion; confused as to why the Warden had departed so quickly. He stormed through the corridor as the other’s continued leisurely, he needed to find Isala; even if it was only to tell her he loved her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sign* sooo not quite ready to use the mature rating just yet, but depending on how impatient I am (which is very) I'm tempted to upload the following chapter straight away. Besides that, this chapter was necessary :D

Idrilla held back from the rest of her advisers and Silvhen, taking her time to exit Josephine’s office. She hadn’t expected her plans to change so quickly and she started to understand what it meant to be inquisitor. She wasn’t afraid of her death, rather the death of those she loved and cared for. Her _Inquisition_.

The door to Josephine’s office slammed shut and just as the Inquisitor was about to open the second door a figure appeared at her side, grabbing her arm to pull her down the steps into the Vault below. After hurried movements and trying to concentrate on not falling she yanked her arm away to find Isala at her side, her demeanour showing her as the Grey Warden she was and not her sister.

“Care to explain why you decided to attack me?” Idrilla probed, rubbing her shoulder to ease the ache, “Cullen is looking for you.”

"If it comes to it… if something happens at the ritual tower; you _have_ to be willing to kill me or leave me behind. Whatever your duty as Inquisitor commands of you.” Isala pleaded, betraying the stoic resolve of the Grey Warden.

“Isala I… I can’t do that. I never wanted this! To be Inquisitor and _lead_ all these people.  I’m still a teenager yet I’m meant to make decisions which ends people's lives. People will literally die for me and that shit is scary. Please don't give me the responsibility to-" Idrilla chocked on a sob before she could finish her sentence and the frightened Dalish elf appeared for a rare moment.

Isala's face softened at her adoptive sister's familiar plea. The Grey Warden swallowed back some of the bite in her voice and placed her hand on the shoulder she'd been so rough with earlier.

"You remind me of myself sometimes, _da'len."_ The mage bit her lip. "I was young, like you, when I completed the Joining. Back then, it was simply another means to an end. A lesser evil. I was just another face in a sea of unknown soldiers who didn't know what they were fighting for." The pale haired elf's eyes seemed far off, as if she were seeing something in the darkness meant only for her. "Then, after Ostagar...I found myself alone, confused, and carrying this impossible burden."

Isala gave Idrilla's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I only became the _Hero of Ferelden_ after I'd slayed an Archdemon. _You_ are already Inquisitor, Idrilla. You have thousands of people, young, old, Human, Dwarven, Qunari, _Elven_...even Tevinter. It is you who has brought them together under a single banner. It is _you_ who will save all Thedas. You have already done more than I ever could. And it is you who will see them through this." The Grey Warden's eyes had become glassy. "Promise me you will do what is right, not what is easy. Swear it to Mythal, Idrilla."

Idrilla’s mouth moved to form words but there was no sound aside from a broken sob, “I… I swear it.” She vowed, her heart breaking with the burden of potentially ending a life she held so dear.

“And I wish people would stop saying it’s all me who will save Thedas, it isn’t just me. I’m nothing special aside from this stupid thing on my hand,” The elf glared at the mark and it glowed to life as if it knew it was being talked about, “I couldn’t do it without any of you.”

Idrilla’s gaze fell to the floor as she continued to stare at the green hue adorning her palm, she clenched her fist to hide it and bit back the tears which threatened to return. Silence continued between the two women as the Inquisitor tried to hold her ground as a leader but failed. She closed the space between her and the older elf and escaped to the safety of her sister’s hug.

“ _Halam'shivanas asa'ma'lin. Ar lath ma.”_ Idrilla murmured through tears, slipping so easily into elven in the presence of her sister.

The Grey Warden held the closest thing she had ever had to family. Her slender hands stroked the hair of the other elf in her arms as she clung to her tightly.

"I love you too, _sister_." Isala squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to retreat before falling down her cheeks.

"Know your worth, Idrilla." She encouraged gently, drawing away enough to look at the Inquisitor. "You are so much more than that mark on your hand."

Idrilla smiled but it didn't reach her eyes, ““You need to go and speak with Cullen, Creator knows what _I_ would say to him.”

The elven mage let go of a shaking sigh and straightened her shoulders. She swallowed the momentary knot of emotions choking her and fought to regain her composure.

"I should not have approached Cullen as I did." Isala shook her head, angry with herself suddenly. "I should have left well enough alone. Creators know what that man has been through... and I cannot bear the thought of hurting him further." Isala tilted her head back to stare at the stone ceiling. She breathed deeply and the breath shook out of her mouth.

“He knows the risks of war, Isala. I imagine his greatest fear would be to lose you but he’s a realist and you need to tell him the truth, even if it hurts.” Idrilla smiled through her pain, deciding to wear a brave face to ease Isala’s ache. “I don’t blame you for rekindling your relationship with him and neither should you. With the threat of Corypheus looming over us it’s all the more reason to throw caution to the wind and enjoy your time together while you can. _Telanadas.”_

Isala closed her eyes and sighed. _Nothing is inevitable_. She knew it was true of death. She'd watched it too many times to count. Perhaps, it could be true of love as well.

"I know." She whispered. "I'll talk with him." She reassured her sister.

“Good,” Idrilla smiled, walking towards the stairs she’d been dragged down, “Am I safe around the stairs in Skyhold by the way? Or shall I be on my guard in case you’re lurking in the shadows to abduct me again.”

The two elves shared a sorrowful laugh before ascending the stairs, departing ways as they entered the Throne Room.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say it with me:
> 
> _One. More. Chapter_

Cullen had spent the best part of an hour searching for the elusive Grey Warden, deciding to retreat to his office with the impression she didn’t want to be found. The weather had taken a turn and the sunny morning he’d spent with Isala had disappeared, clouds looming ahead with the threat of a storm. The Commander shook his head as he continued to walk, hoping the change in climate didn’t reflect a change in Isala.

The first few droplets of rain began to fall as he reached his office door and he quickly ducked inside to turn and shut the door firmly. He sighed when he reached the comfort of his space, leaning his head against the door. He thought of the situation he’d need to send his love in to the following day, and sighed as he realised it wouldn’t be the only danger.

The Commander wished the Warden would pay a visit but didn’t hold out hope, so it surprised him to see the very women sitting at his desk.

“Isala? You’re _here_.” Cullen said in disbelief.

"I was told you were searching for me? I thought you would inevitably return to your office, so I thought it best to wait for you here.” Isala reasoned.

“I… I umm… yes.” Cullen groaned as he continued to stutter, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration, “Yes I was looking for you. I wanted to… _be_ with you.”

Isala felt the smile threaten her face at almost the sight of him, let alone his soft confession. She found something interesting on his desk to stare at, trying to keep her focus despite the incredible distraction standing a couple of meters away.

"Cullen..." she began, but couldn't really remember what she'd meant to say. She'd come to his office to make sure he understood what was likely to be a very real possibility. That she might not be coming back from the Western Approach. It wasn't just the ever-present threat of death, but it was her duty as a Grey Warden. When the dust was settled, the elven mage wasn't sure where she would be needed most. Even if she knew in her heart of hearts she had already found where she wanted to be.

"I'm sorry if you were looking long. I didn't intend to disrupt your routine. I know there is much to prepare for." She said quickly. Her fingers absently stroked the parchment of a few nearby reports scattered across the large wooden desk. She still couldn't seem to look at him and she prayed silently for courage.

"Cullen..." When she said his name the second time, she managed to glance up. He'd moved closer, his face full of trepidation. Whatever she'd been about to say died in her throat. "I want you to know...I want you to know that my time in Skyhold, with you, has been the happiest in my life. I don't want to..." she looked away before the sting could hit her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, Cullen. I've already been the cause of so much pain for you. I know you understand the risks..." she was blinking too fast now. "But we both need to accept that there is a very real chance...that I..." there was a break in her voice. Her carefully practiced Warden demeanour, the stoic Hero of Ferelden, began to crumble around the edges. "I may not return."

Cullen’s shoulder’s sagged once Isala had managed to say what she wanted. His concerned gaze softened at the admission of her fear and he was relieved that the Warden did not have second thoughts regarding their relationship. Watching Isala’s wall begin to crumble the Commander shot to her aid and held her, the comfort of having the small elf in his arms a welcomed respite.

“I realise that.” Cullen spoke gently, his hand splayed lovingly around the back of her neck as her pressed her into his chest, “But I have spent the last ten years of my life without you, that was far more painful than anything else I have endured. Whatever may happen, I will forever be grateful to the Maker for bringing you back to me, even if it is for a brief time on both our parts.”

The human and elf continued to embrace is the almost comfortable silence, with Cullen unwilling to loosen his grip on Isala. He was content to have her in his company and even if this moment would be there last together, he would cherish it.

“I love you, Isala.”

Isala's breath hitched at his profession and she felt the first hot sting of tears cascade down over her cheeks. She had grown content in the notion that her life would end far too quickly, that she would never bear children, that she would die alone in the dark...but now...

_Now there was Cullen._

"I love you, too." She breathed into the warmth of his embrace. Her hands fisting into the cloth of his tunic.

She wanted to tell him that she didn't want to go. That she wanted to turn her back on all of it and run away with him. Pretend that they could be happy. _Together_.

But she couldn't.

Whatever Corypheus had planned, it affected them all. There could be no happiness as long as he still walked among the living. She had to see this through to its end. Whatever that might mean.

Cullen pulled back from the embrace with a beaming smile, hearing the woman he loved utter those simple words he’d longed to hear.

The Commander smirked before dropping an old coin in the center of Isala’s palm, “I intended to take you to a lake I visited all the time when I was a child, my siblings were… difficult and although I loved them I sometimes needed to get away.” Cullen held his hand over Isala’s, trapping the metal between, “The day I left for Templar training my brother gave me this coin and he said it was lucky. I broke the rules taking it with me but it was the only thing I kept from my life in Ferelden.”

Cullen paused to look at Isala, her face unreadable yet her lips were slightly parted as she breathed. The Commander placed the tip of his glove between his teeth and pulled until the leather parted from his hand. He grabbed it and threw it on his desk and he gently lifted Isala’s chin with his bare hand, pressing his lips against hers in a soft caress.

“Indulge me, Isala. We don’t know what you’ll face before the end… this can’t hurt.” 

Isala blinked in one long, slow fall of lashes. She managed to break away from Cullen's gaze and look down at the coin in her palm. It was warm from the skin contact and a solid weight in her hand. It was a part of him. A piece of his history and family. Now, he wanted it to be a part of her.

"Oh Cullen, I can't take this from you...it was your brother's... I..." She looked back up and his expression said plainly how much this meant to him. She felt her face soften. "Alright." She conceded, smiling gently. Her fingers closed around the weathered coin and she used her free hand to draw the Commanders face down for a kiss.

Isala smiled against his mouth. "Who knew you were so rebellious?" She kissed him again and snickered. "Oh...that's right... _I_ did." She teased, remembering how they had been in the Circle together.

Cullen beamed when Isala accepted the token, smirking at the mention of their past “I know it’s foolish to believe in such a thing, but I’m glad you’ll hold on to it.”

The Commander leaned down to steal another kiss from the blushing elf before a gentle tapping began on the door, becoming more urgent.

“There’s always something.” Cullen sighed, moving away from Isala, “Enter.”

“Sir. The inquisitor has relieved the scouts for the evening; I just wanted to clarify-” A scout began to explain before the Commander cut him off.

“Who leads this Inquisition?” He demanded.

“The Inquisitor of course.” The scout replied shakily.

“So therefore her order outranks mine, enjoy your evening.” Cullen smiled tight lipped at the scout before dismissing him.

As the Commander turned his attention to Isala he noticed she was watching the exchange between himself and the scout. Her character had changed since the short time they’d been speaking; she was far more at ease as she leaned against his desk.

“I am getting the impression that your sister likes to meddle.” He chuckled at Idrilla’s insight and commended her, “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

"Must be why she and Sera get on so well." She chuckled, imagining the expression on many of the soldiers faces when they were given the night off. Her smile, however, sobered as she eyed the human standing across the room.

"Though, I'm not complaining either..." She licked her bottom lip and shifted against the desk as her gaze rolled up to focus on him. "We always seem to get interrupted when..." He was moving back to her. Taking his steps slowly, carefully watching her as she fidgeted on the heavy wood behind her. His posture was relaxing the closer he came and Isala could see a heat filling his eyes that she could only imagine hers mirrored. "...things get good..." she finished with a laboured sigh.

His legs brushed against hers as he reached her and her hand went back to brace against the desk out of instinct. The bottle wobbled and fell too quickly for the mage to react and glass shattered with an echo across the stone floor.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cullen Rutherford X Isala Lavellan ~ NSFW_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, it's taken eighteen chapters to FINALLY give that bloody mature rating a reason for being there. With buckets of help from the wonderful Breathing2nd, I can finally say this chapter is NSFW *happy dances*

# Chapter 19

Isala's eyes were wide and apologetic for the mishap. She started to move to clean up the mess she'd just caused, but the Commander wasn't moving. In fact, he hardly seemed to care.

Cullen caught Isala’s gaze before she could move. He peered over the side of his desk at the broken glass and smiled. Shaking his head lightly at the mishap he acted on impulse, clearing the desk of the few reports and bottle with a single sweep of his arm.

He cupped the stunned elf’s waist as he lifted her with ease on to the edge of the desk, advancing her when she moved further onto hardwood and used his knee to part her legs to allow himself to nestle in between. The Commander decided to be bold in his actions, shuffling awkwardly between Isala’s parted thighs before getting comfortable. The palm of his hand naturally fell on her waist and glided upward to cup her breast over the thick leather of her armour.

Cullen risked a quick glance for approval but found he didn’t need it. Isala watched him through hooded lids, their eyes meeting briefly to show mutual understanding before their lips crashed together. The Commander caught the Warden’s bottom lip between his and bit hard on the plump skin then sucked gently before releasing it with a slight pop.

Isala’s hands moved catching Cullen’s attention momentarily, the urgency of her movements against the difficult buckles of his armour rendering the attempt pointless. Whilst the Commander continued to possess her in the consuming kiss he moved his hands to help, unfastening the breastplate with a simple flick of his fingers and the sound of metal connecting with stone soon echoed around the small room.

A moment of clarity passed between the two, the noise of the armour hitting the floor making them both laugh at the interruption but it intensified their need for one another. Cullen wrapped the cord holding Isala’s breast plate around his finger and tugged, the heavy leather falling free easily with his hand replacing the armours absence beneath the thick tunic.

Skin on skin contact ignited a fire within the Commander he wasn’t aware that existed. His need for the woman that laid beneath him was unbearable. He’d always imagined what she would feel like beneath him, to grasp at the milky flesh and hear the slight moans that would escape the Warden’s throat.

Cullen growled in response as he worked the fabric pinning his hand loose, exposing Isala to the cool air of his office. His mouth moved to claim the nipple that was yet to harden, slowly rotating his tongue around the soft skin and blowing delicately to cool the moisture still there. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak before his mouth claimed it once more.

The Warden writhed on the desk, her hips gently bucking against the hardness that laid beneath the Commander’s pants. His hand’s moved instinctively to cease the movements on Isala’s hips and his fingertips grazed the waistband of her leggings, loosening the laces and he trace the delicate cord. Cullen glided his hand around the resistance and worked the material away from her, inch my inch exposing her skin until the delicate material was thrown to the floor.

In a matter of moments, he’d exposed her down to her smalls. The remaining layers of her tunics were bunched high around her chest and her slender thighs were unceremoniously bare. Meanwhile, she’d only managed to encourage him to remove the heavy breastplate that weighed him down. The Grey Warden decided, that simply wouldn’t do.

While the Commander was distracted with the peeling away of her leggings, she took the opportunity to rise up and greet him. As he discarded the soft fabric to the floor, Isala rolled her back enough to reach the large belt that covered his waist. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the buckle and in an instant the wine and gold material that crossed over his chest slid apart, revealing the tunic beneath.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” The elven mage murmured. Even she could hear the breathlessness already creeping into her voice. The anticipation of what she’d be uncovering causing her heartrate to speed even further.

She wasted little time in pulling the neatly tucked in fabric free and running her fingertips along the hard ripples of muscle that lay underneath. She could have lingered there and ran her palms over every inch of his abdomen, but her body demanded that she press onward. There was a sense of urgency to her movements. Fingers, so used to casting magic, now tugged and pulled on the taut laces that held his trousers in place. Even when the human man lowered his weight back down suddenly, effectively pinning her hands between them, she managed to pull the last crossing of loops free.

Cullen’s mouth was warm as it claimed hers once more. His large, strong hands a welcomed distraction as he discovered every curve of her body. Though, Isala did not remain deterred for long and in an eager thrust of her fingertips, she slipped her hand beneath the tough material of his undergarments. She gripped him firmly in her hand, gently caressing skin that was both feather soft and impressively hard.

The Commander made a sound against her lips as she stroked him, his mouth parting over hers, breaking the kiss to revel in the sudden sensation.

It was as if for a moment timed stopped. How had they got here? To this point after weeks of interruptions? His mind reeled before heavy pressure and languid movements stroked his length, bringing him back to the present and threatening to make him stutter.

“ _Maker’s bre- “_ Cullen breathed, unable to finish his sentence.

He pressed his forehead against Isala’s in an attempt to focus his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself, yet he didn’t feel he would. Not with Isala. He took one last desperate breath before he bucked instinctively into Isala’s clenched fist, his own body betraying him. With some effort he reluctantly removed Isala’s hand from the tight hold of his trousers, deciding to remove the piece of clothing entirely. He shuffled to the end of the desk, removing his shoes with the other foot once he’d felt the hardness of the stone floor; his trousers joined them in an awkward heap.

The Commander took a second to appreciate the sight before him. The forbidden mage laid bare aside from the thick tunic carelessly framing her breasts as she panted with her thighs spread idly apart, waiting for Cullen to reclaim his previous position. She stared at him through her eyelashes, and he fought with himself to not get carried away.

Cullen leaned forward as he stood on the ground and his hands grasped her calves, pulling her to the edge of his desk. She came to an abrupt stop and before she could think, the Commander began to place soft kisses along her hipbone, leaving small spots of moisture. He continued to kiss along the edge of soft, dark blonde curls; his right hand moving to rest on Isala’s hipbone to quell her fidgeting. He explored the flesh of the Warden’s taut stomach as he continued to tease.

The elven mage watched him intently, still continuing to jerk her hips in need. Cullen cupped her and ran a single finger through the curls causing Isala to still. He tested the movement a few more times before settling with slight circles where she was most sensitive. He clasped the soft skin of her ass to slide her further onto the desk once more as he reclaimed his previous position between lazy thighs. With a single hand he grabbed the hem of his thin tunic and pulled it over his head, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor before helping the Warden with her clothing. Cullen pinched the arms of the sturdy material of Isala’s thin coat, pulling until the material passed over her head leaving her intricately braided hair loose and wild.

They both paused for a moment, their naked bodies touching but not in the way the Commander wanted. Cullen smiled causing the scar on his lip to crease as he leaned over and brushed away a stray tendril of platinum hair before kissing the Warden once more. As he moved the sensitive tip of him brushed against her opening, the slick heat of her enticing him.

“Are you… sure about this?” The Commander doubted himself, deciding to ask before they couldn’t turn back.

She saw that flicker of hesitation in Cullen’s eyes as he held himself poised above her. After all this time, after so much history between them, he was still unsure, still doubting himself. It softened the Warden’s expression ever-so-slightly as she considered him. Her hand reaching out to cup the curve of his cheek, holding his gaze with her own, much surer one.

“Cullen… do you even need to ask?” She tried to tell him with her smile and the eagerness of her body, that his reservations were unfounded. As she drew his mouth back to hers, the elven mage rolled her hips to greet him, hooking a leg behind him to pull him down toward her. She could feel the hot press of him, silken and hard in the same instant. She was wet and anxious for the feel of him inside her, but she could already tell he was not going to be a lover to be taken in rough haste. He would need to be eased in one glorious inch at a time.

Her breath eased out in a half moaned sigh as he sank slowly between her legs. His weight enveloping her as the pressure of his size filled her up. Her arms slipped over his shoulders to grip the muscled expanse of his back while her other leg rose to mirror its twin. It had been a long time since she’d taken a lover and she savoured the feel of him married against her.

She held him there, sheathed fully inside for several heartbeats, enjoying the sensation of him, the newness, the completeness. She kissed him in a long, slow exchange, ending with their foreheads touching, breaths easing out in heavy, quivering exhales. Then the mage smiled and loosened her grip around his hips, signalling the Commander, without words… to begin.

That first withdrawal bowed her spine and rolled her hips away from the sturdy wooden desk. She cried out as he eased back inside and then her moans began in earnest as the once hesitant Templar, found his rhythm.

Cullen was shaky in movements to begin with. The elven mage he was nestled inside held so much significance and he almost chastised himself for being reckless taking other partners in the ten years they'd been apart.

He marvelled at the elf as he watched himself disappear into her depths over and over, each time hitting that sweet spot which would illicit a guttural moan from both the human and the elf. As he would tease the sensitivity she'd clench around him, the tightness rendering it impossible to move for fear of hurting her. After a few moments had passed and Isala relaxed, Cullen cupped his hand around the back of her knee to lift the limb slightly. The small change in position meant the Commander could be deeper and consume the mage's senses to make her writhe on his desk at the fullness. Maker, he'll never be keep a straight face when delivering orders from behind the very desk they were coupled upon. The thought thrilled him as he thrust harder, taking the Warden by surprise as she groaned in delight.

A rough, battle worn hand caressed Isala's side as it headed for the centre of her again, the joint sensation of the two sources of pleasure quickened the elf's breathing once more. She moaned unabashed into the cool air, the sound bouncing of the walls. If any scout had been patrolling the battlements they would have no doubt heard, yet the usually reserved Commander didn't care. He craved the sound of Isala's breathlessness and aggressive moans.

He bent to steal a messy kiss, pressing the leg he was still holding into the Warden's torso intensifying the feeling even further. As their lips brushed together Isala caught Cullen's plump skin between her teeth and bit, hard.

The Commander growled in response, moving with lightning speed as he sat back on his haunches taking Isala with him. As the Warden straddled him he pulled her down onto his length once more, controlling the motion of her hips with his hands splayed firmly on her hips. The ferocity in his movements had him panting unevenly, the need to see his love moan in ecstasy as sheer euphoria claimed her body and mind.

He groaned as the Warden tightened around him once more, threatening his release as he began to see white.

" _Isala_." He breathed. The amber pools of his eyes burning hot as he pleaded with the mage for release, yet he would not do so until she had and he would spend the evening making sure she did.

His rhythm was becoming more erratic as he fought for control of his body. A fine sheen of sweat glistened along his muscled form and Isala had to dig her fingertips into his skin for purchase as she rocked in tandem with his thrusts. He’d given her the opportunity to govern the pace and depth from this new position and the elven mage took it.

She arched her back, reclining until she abandoned one arm to brace herself on the desk with the flat of her palm. Her other hand clasped desperately to the nape of the Commander’s neck where his hair was already cool and damp against her fingers. Isala rolled her hips into him like a mermaid flipping its tail. Her stomach tensed and dipped with each motion she created until it flowed in a rhythm all its own. She worked her body over him with a dancer’s grace until even she could not deny the pressure threatening to drive her screaming over the edge.

The thrusts were shallower, faster, and rougher than at any other point in their lovemaking. She could feel him quivering inside her. His body fighting for every withdrawal, every new push, every repeat. She heard him breathe her name like a prayer to his maker and her toes curled.

“Cullen…” It was meant like an offering but instead, came out as a warning as every nerve ending in her body was suddenly filled with white, hot electricity. Her nails dug into the surface of the wood and her skin tingled with unspent magic. She could taste the Fade on her tongue like a promise and she fought to swallow down the wild energy that demanded an outlet. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, cast magic, she told herself.

She felt Cullen swell and speed his pace in one final onslaught as he lost himself inside her, and all that careful control was undone as his mouth claimed a taut nipple and screamed his pleasure around her. She felt herself spill over that shining edge around him and her nails dug into his skin, her magic raced out and down her free hand until she felt the wood of the desk give a little beneath her palm. She could smell the acrid scent of scorched wood, but she couldn’t seem to remember how to care. There was only the feeling of the man inside her. Filling her up. Making her whole.

The Commander gasped as he tried to reclaim a steady breath. His current heavy panting matching the pace of his heart. He leaned down to place Isala on the relative comfort of the wooden desk, the hardness still inside his Warden beginning to wane. _His warden._ His… completely. Gooseflesh threatened to cover the expanse of his golden skin at the realisation and he couldn’t help but smile.

He continued to fuss over the milestone in their budding relationship as he came to notice the spell of burning oak. The Commander’s eyebrow creased in confusion before realisation swept across his features; the sheepish grin Isala wore on her face confirming his suspicion. She began to mutter something about it not being bad but he decided to dismiss it with a simple shake of his head. He didn’t care if it was bad or, maker forbid, obvious. He _wanted_ people to see it, and for himself to see it every time he used the very desk they were laid on to remind him of Isala.

His heart began to stammer unexpectedly with the understanding Isala used magic, although unintentionally. He swallowed past the hard lump in his throat which told him to panic and he surmised that it could have been a lot worse. The all too familiar fist of fear that clenched his heart hadn’t made an appearance and he sighed in relief for the absence.

Once he had withdrawn fully, he moved to inspect the imprint of Isala’s palm in the wood. Perfectly indented into solid timber was the delicate casting of his lover’s hand, suspended in time for him to cherish forever.

He laughed at the situation, leaning to steal a kiss as Isala still laid casually on the still smoking oak. Searching his office for something to clean himself and Isala with, he fell short on finding something disposable and had to settle for his thin tunic.

“I know it’s not the best thing, but I assume it’s better than…,” He gestured with his hand and pointed to the place he’d been a moment before, words failing him as embarrassment tried to take over, “um… better than nothing.”

Cullen blushed as he continued to stutter. What would it take to stop stuttering to the woman? He decided he never would; not even if the impossible happened and Corypheus was defeated, leaving them to live their lives peacefully. 

“I know it’s too much to ask, but would you consider- “The Commander coughed into his fist to steady his voice, “staying the night.”

Cullen moved to pull Isala upright, helping her move to the edge of his desk and he nestled between her thighs once more, “ _Please_?”

Isala smiled up at the Commander, still basking in the soft afterglow. She loosely wrapped her arms around his back, fingertips tracing small circles over his warm skin. The Warden gazed at Cullen and for the first time in a long time, she felt truly happy.

"Cullen, do you even need to ask?" She teased, resting her head against his chest. "I can't imagine any place I would rather be."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd try and get back into the swing of things and get writing again. After a hiatus with finishing university and graduating *victory dances* I've finally got spare time! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

#  Chapter 20

The inquisitor led the way to the Tevinter ritual tower, her usual party members with the addition of her sister, followed a moment after to try and shield themselves from being pelted with sand in the passing wind. Idrilla knew they were close to the first camp at least; aside from the gruelling journey that took fifteen days to even reach the outskirts of the sand ridden plane of land, but also the look on her sister’s face. The determined and steadfast expression Isala wore as they left Skyhold had been weakened to the point of agony. Her stern eyes began to plead with relief as the Calling grew stronger as they neared the ritual tower.

Idrilla had asked what the Calling felt like, to only be told to imagine constant nightmares, and the incessant sound of music and whispers which caused the worst headache she’d ever experienced with no permanent way of relief besides the obvious.

The inquisitor shuddered at the thought and quickly focused her attention on the half full canteen she had attached to her side. She took the bottle in a hand and gently traced a glyph into the side, cooling the water to slightly above freezing. Idrilla nodded quickly and caught the warden’s attention, the confusion plastered on her face lifting to a grateful sigh.

An hour had passed before a familiar dwarf came into view with her usual cheery face contorted in concern. “Inquisitor, welcome to the Western Approach. We’ve sighted Grey Warden activity to the south west but no-one’s been close enough to figure out what they’re doing. Between the sand storms and the viscous wildlife; we haven’t made it far out here. One of my men got too close to a poison hot spring and gave me a… slightly delirious report of a high dragon flying overhead. In short; this might be the worst place in the entire world.”

“Well… it’s good to know what I’m in for.” Idrilla mused with the thought of fighting her way to the ritual tower dampening her mood further.

“Sorry I don’t have more for you. We intercepted a Venatori messenger and uh… persuaded him to give up the orders he was carrying; we have them here. This entire place, it just… feels like something’s not right. Be careful.” Harding half smiled then realised someone was missing. "Where is your brother, Inquisitor?" 

"I told him to stay behind." Idrilla answered.

"More like ordered him. He's not well and still wanted to come along, but the healers insisted." Isala corrected, slight humour showing in her eyes.

"Yeah, it's not easy for him to take orders from his _little_ sister. But he'd be more of a hindrance than a help if he was here."

Scout Harding simply nodded and wished the party once more before returning to her duties.

“Must be bad if Harding told us to be careful twice, Boss.” Bull noted with the threat hardly effecting his mood.

Idrilla nodded in agreement, “I really don’t feel like being chased by one of those spiky dog things on foot.”

Cassandra scoffed, “They’re called Varghest; and I happen to agree.”

“Don’t think the blighted things care if we know it’s a Vargy-whatever; just if we taste nice.” Sera argued.

Idrilla expected a flippant comment about the Western Approach from Dorian but was surprised to find the mage was making a concerted effort to not open his mouth. “Everything alright, Dorian?”

The Mage glared at Idrilla momentarily, sighing heavily through his nose, “You drag me to the arse-end of Thedas, and ask if I'm ‘alright’? Of course not, I'm more desert than man at the moment and I'd rather not continue to ingest sand.”

“There he is,” Idrilla smiled as Dorian continued to glare and clamp his mouth shut once more, “I was beginning to think you liked the place.”

A short trek on foot led them to the Ritual tower where they met Hawke and Stroud. Inside, they found the tower was nothing but a glorified staircase, but the sorry sight of Grey Wardens submitting to Lord Livius Erimond who turned them into mindless puppets of the Elder one, stunted the previous disapproval of the architecture.

“Ah, inquisitor. I wondered when you'd grace us with your presence. And what is this? Another terrified Warden for me to bind?” The magister leered, his attention focused on Isala who was barely able to hold her steadfast expression due to the pain she was experiencing.

“Do I look terrified to you?” The Warden Commander hissed through gritted teeth. Her staff glowing with power as she whirled the weapon around to the ready.

The rest of the meeting went along in a blur. A momentary victory for the magister resulted in a cataclysmic defeat once Idrilla fought back with her mark. The cowardly vint grasped at the solace of his minions and commanded the puppets to fight in his behalf whilst he fled. For her two Grey Warden comrades, the fight against their own was a difficult one. They ended the lives of those who were so easily led to believe the Calling was real, and had many a year before their time was due.

The final demon fell back to the fade in a simple gesture and Corypheus’ plans for a demon army lay undeveloped for the moment.

“They refused to listen to reason.” Hawke spat, his voice rife with disbelieve and anger.

“You were correct.” Shroud admitted. “Through their ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus.”

“And the warden warriors?” Asked the Champion, already knowing the answer, “Of course. Sacrificed in the ritual. What a waste.”

“Erimond lied to the Wardens. They were trying to prevent future blights.” Idrilla argued, holding no blame to the Grey Warden’s. Her words, however, fell flat and the Champion of Kirkwall and Warden Stroud continued to bicker behind the reasoning of the Grey Warden’s actions.

“You are not to blame for this. These soldiers signed their fate when they bound themselves with demons. If anything, you showed them mercy.” Cassandra spoke, her words an attempt to comfort the elven Warden.

“We must end this.” Isala sighed, shaking her head, pale hair falling in a loose disarray around her elven face. “This cannot stand.” She was in pain, true, but it hardly seemed to compare to what lay before them.

“I believe I know where the Wardens are, your worship. Erimond fled in that direction. There’s an abandoned fortress that way. Adamant.”

Idrilla rolled her eyes, the thought of more traveling in the Western Approach already wearing on her mood. “I guess they didn’t want to summon a demon army out in public.”

“The warden and I will scout out Adamant and confirm that the other wardens are there.” The Champion offered, “We’ll meet you back at Skyhold.”

After the two parties parted, Idrilla quickly exchanged works with the seeker.

A hushed conversation which led to Cassandra sighing in defeat. "If we must continue on to the forward camp and begin the journey back to Skyhold, then so be it."

Idrilla smiled in triumph, the sooner they were out of the Western Approach the better and her sister could start to feel better, even if she wouldn't admit she was suffering. A momentary sense of glee passed over Dorian as he realised they were to head to their home in the mountains so soon.

Their fortress in the sky.


	21. Chapter 21

# Chapter 21

Their arrival back to Skyhold a few weeks later was met with the same fanfare as normal, the people glad to see their Inquisitor had returned alive.  The tavern that night was buzzing with activity as every seat was occupied by those apprehensive for news on adamant. Many were eager to feign ignorance, whilst others were happy to be in the company of fast friends; then there was the odd few who were not worried in the slightest.

Silvhen had spent most the day training, besides the few he spent in his room hiding under the blanket as sickness washed over him; he wasn’t sure if the Elfroot tea helped or if it just made the illness worse. Another unfortunate practice dummy met its untimely demise as the assassin broadened his skills with the blade and he panted through his exhaustion deciding he was finished for the evening.

He felt lost without his family being around for the months they were gone, but with the Spymaster’s ravens keeping them updated he never felt the need to worry. The rough approached Herald’s rest with the promise of a drink to ease his tired and aching body, the door open with patrons drinking in the doorway. Surprisingly, he found an unoccupied table nestled away in the corner save for a few empty glasses.

Not a moment after he claimed a stool an ominous looking drink was thrust into his hand by a passing servant girl who giggled when the Dalish rouge winked in thanks.

Silvhen smirked and shook his head as the petite red-headed human passed The Iron Bull receiving a firm slap to her backside; he could hear the giggling ringing through his ears as he brought the tankard to his lips. The bitter taste of strong mead offended the rouge as he fought to swallowed it; unsure whether the after taste would be better than the _initial_ taste. He grimaced as he took another long draught, discovering the foul ale was even more disgusting the second time.

“Surprisingly, you'll get used to it after you've been forced to drink it.” A familiar voice commented as they claimed the spare seat across Silvhen, “and there isn’t an alternative save for special occasions.”

“Nice to see you’ve returned in one piece.” Silvhen mused a moment as he regarded the Altus for a moment, almost in disbelief that there was someone who could stomach the beverage. “You like this?”

“Thank you. And I have acquired a taste for it; and yes, I am ashamed to admit it. Yet it’s better than _no alcohol_.” Dorian emphasised to reiterate his point.

Silvhen lifted his tankard and nodded his head in agreement as he took another draught, this time coughing. “I think I’d rather be sober.”

The two men sat in relatively comfortable silence whilst they finished their drinks, with Silvhen expecting to find sediment at the bottom of his. “So, the drink they save for special occasions. Do they keep it in Skyhold?”

“You ask the right questions; they do. Yet I lost my privileges when I took one too many bottles.” Dorian admitted.

Silvhen quirked an eyebrow in question and baulked when the mage admitted to taking fourteen bottles. “I tried wine once that I found whilst hunting. It’s better than this.”

“I can assure you, the wine in which you tasted is a long shot from _Orlesian_ wine.” The Tevinter closed his eyes and sighed in memory of the alcohol. “They have very little here, if any. I was never able to find it, so I had to make do with the vinegar that masquerades as wine to get by.”

“Where is the wine cellar? You’ve talked me into getting you a bottle or two.” Silvhen half smiled and winked. “If I don’t throw up from… _this_.”

Dorian tried to keep his expression platonic, but couldn’t help the gleeful squeak that escaped when the promise of good wine was dangled before him.

The rouge baulked at the mage after he explained where the wine was hiding, “The only thing keeping us from something good is a rusty old lock?” He laughed whilst he shook his head in disbelief. “More people should know how to pick them, it’s a basic skill.”

Silvhen briefly explained to Dorian where to meet so they could share their ill-gotten gains and was gone a moment later. The shadows cloaked his body as he fled the tavern with his mind intent on pleasing the Tevinter.

As Silvhen made quick work of the short journey to the wine cellar he took a moment to appreciate the slightly warmer breeze that seemed almost impossible on a mountain top. He reminisced about the days he would be with his sister with their clan at the same time of year. The shemlen holiday _Summerday_ was fast approaching meaning warmer nights and the bright summer sun would weave through the trees which would heat their aravels and cast random shadows; rare entertainment for those who lived in the woods. He smiled at the memory and focused on his task, quickly ducking into the kitchen to bypass anyone of rank.

The sound of metal scraping and loosening as thin picks wriggled the lock free sounded in the silence of the Vault, a room which he never would have realised existed if not for Dorian’s directions. A definitive clunk sounded alerting the elf that he was successful and the door glided open showing the barrels and bottles which adorned the walls of the cellar, and crates thick with dusk haphazardly strewn across the floor.

The assassin bent to wipe a hand across a particularly dusty box and found an intricate print below the surface he just uncovered. Silvhen tested the letters on his tongue, the unfamiliarity of reading making the task far more difficult that he had intended but after sounding each word aloud he realised he’d struck gold on his first attempt and had found a full crate of Orlesian wine.

Silvhen stood as he heard footsteps outside the door to the cellar, unsure whether he’d been caught or a servant girl was making their way to the kitchen. He peeked through the lock on the door and found the Vault empty much to his relief, and made quick work of locking the door so no-one would know of the theft. He shrouded himself in the shadows once more with the pilfered crate in hand as he fled the scene of crime.


	22. Chapter 22

Twenty minutes had passed since the dashing rogue left in search for wine cellar, leaving Dorian alone with his thoughts as he waited outside the room he believed to be Silvhen’s quarters. Thoughts of the elf’s capture crossed his mind a few times but he knew that wouldn’t happen; although he wouldn’t admit it aloud, Dorian knew Silvhen was as good a rogue as he was a mage. His thoughts shifted to the possibility of being stood up, and that the elf may have _changed his mind,_ yet it wasn’t the lack of alcohol that upset him, rather the lack of the attractive Dalish elf that did.

He sat on a nearby barrel, which had no other obvious purpose that to be a mediocre attempt at furniture, and tried to busy himself with his hands; picking at his nails or the lose threads on his slightly weathered robe. The Altus wondered how long he would wait, since it had already been longer than the elf had said. How long would be considered desperate? How long could his pride allow him to stay? He zoned in on the pattern of masonry that made up the balcony wall and followed the erratic lines before realising he had lost another ten minutes focusing on bits of brick. Residing himself to being stood up he sighed and used the wall behind the barrel as a backrest, trying to get the energy to walk back to the tavern.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The Ferelden accent broke the Tevinter from his thoughts and made him jump, and the sight of the 6-foot human tumbling from the barrel made the elf laugh. “So… I caught you off guard then? Without even trying! I’m getting better at this assassin-thing.”

“ _Vishante kaffas! Please_ explain the need to sneak up on me.” Dorian swore as he found his feet.

“There wasn’t any- you were so lost in thought I didn’t want to disturb you.” Silvhen smiled, a slight snicker escaping, “and keep talking like that, it does _things_ to me.”

The elf broke into laughter at the shocked expression on the human’s face, and nodded his head towards the door which lead to his room. Dorian trailed behind allowing Silvhen to invite him inside whilst he wondered if being alone with the object of his affection was a good idea. He certainly thought so, but he couldn’t shake the fact that the elf is the Inquisitor’s brother.

“Are you coming in or are you too scared to be _alone_ with me?” The cocky elf asked, voicing the mage’s concern.

Dorian nodded, uncertain whether his voice would fail him or not. The modest room surprised the human, the large bed and comfortable furnishings made him feel more at ease and he moved further into the chamber.

Still scanning the walls, his eye’s laid upon the set of familiar curtains surrounding the window. “I said the same thing to your sister; those curtains are hideous.”

“I don’t mind, they- ”

“Keep the sun out when you close then properly, _I know_.” Dorian easily finished his sentence, remembering Idrilla’s opinion of the curtains.

Silvhen smiled genuinely for once, nothing snarky or cocky for the first time to his knowledge. This human he had not long since treated as nothing better than the slavers that would raid their clan actually _cared_ for his sister and had made a strong bond with her. The fact that Dorian knew his sister so well had caught the elf off guard and he moved to busy himself with the crate of wine.

“I am ashamed to admit this to you but you might as well know. I- well… I can’t exactly _read_. So, that’s why I was so long since I had no fucking idea what the writing said.” Silvhen spoke fast to cover his embarrassment at his shortcomings, but retrieved a bottle before the Vint could ask questions.  

“You can’t read?” Dorian asked, causing the elf to sigh.

“Nope… _well_ … kind of. Go ahead, make fun.” Silvhen remained quiet as his arms fell to his sides in defeat, “Here, I hope this is okay.”

Dorian took the wine from his hand and placed it on the bedside, foregoing the label and turning his attention to the elf standing in front of him. He gestured towards the bed and waited to receive a brisk nod before he sat on the side, patting the free space next to him so Silvhen would join him.

“Why do you think I would do such a thing? Is it because I’m from Tevinter? Or because I’m human? Or a mixture of them all? The dastardly human _mage from Tevinter_. The world is full of stereotypes but I am nothing like that, maybe at one point I was but that’s in the past; if anything, I would like to help you.” Dorian offered in hushed tones, almost like offering a highly sought-after deal, “If you wanted the help that is.”

The elf nodded and quickly apologised for his accusation, confused as to why the man was being so… _nice_? It was no secret that he’d been pining for the mage and that his feelings were reciprocated, he just found that falling for a Shem was disconcerting and to taboo a subject amongst elves. Then he remembered his elder sister, Isala, and her romance with the Inquisition’s Commander, maybe it wasn’t so taboo after all.

Dorian turned his attention back to the bottle of wine and gasped when he read the label. “Do you know what this is? It’s an Orlesian Vintage! This will taste like nectar and you managed to get _twelve_ bottles… I could _kiss_ you.” The mage beamed through his excitement before his face dropped, realisation at what he said crossing his face.

“As hilarious and rewarding that display may have been; you’d have to buy me dinner first.” _Or maybe just give me a glass of wine,_ the elf thought to himself.

A small smile tugged at Dorian’s lips as he retrieved two glasses from a nearby table, deciding he wasn't above drinking out of the incorrect glass for the sake of having a decent drink. He poured equal amounts into the glasses and swirled his as he inhaled the scent of heavy grape infused with subtle leather and tobacco notes.

The Mage groaned inwardly at the standard of wine the rogue had acquired and licked his lips in anticipation, handing the second glass to Silvhen encouraging him to try it.

The elf quirked an eyebrow at the human’s enthusiasm but found it infectious and tentatively sipped at the deep red liquid and found it surprisingly pleasant. Not long after finishing their first glass the two men settled into a comfortable conversation, the odd question about the other being asked and answered through the merry haze caused by the potent liquor.

“So, I'm familiar with Isala’s and Idrilla’s tattoos,” Dorian gestured to his face, the tipsiness getting the better of him and making the gesture far more erratic than necessary, “but I can't say I've ever seen yours. Which of your gods does it represent?”

“You're really interested in that sort of thing?” The Dalish questioned to receive a brisk nod, “fair enough. It's Andruil’s, goddess of the hunt. I needed to pick a vallaslin and since I was a hunter for my clan I chose _her_. It… made sense.”

“Ah, yes. A _vallalin_. Good choice, it suits you.” The Mage slurred his words eliciting a snort from the elf who attempted and failed to get the tipsy human to pronounce _vallaslin_ correctly.

“How strong is this stuff? We’ve shared a bottle and you’re already drunk.” Silvhen giggled as he sprawled across the width of the queen size bed.

Dorian animatedly shrugged his shoulders before yawning, “I can’t say, but I feel as though I’ve had my limit and that usually doesn’t happen.” The human hiccupped as if to reiterate his point, “Besides I’ll be discussing the assault on Adamant with your sister in the morning, Hawke and Shroud should have arrived by now.”

“Yes, the journey I was ordered _not_ to go on.” Silvhen pursed his lips in mock annoyance.

“And with good reason. Projectile vomiting isn’t something to take on the road, for oneself and their party members.” Silvhen nodded in agreement, “Anyway, I think it’s time I called it a night.” Dorian stood suddenly, testing his stability on his feet as he swayed.

Tentatively stepping towards the door, he was glad to find his footing to be steady and straightened his back in newfound confidence that he could get back to his quarters safely. He stepped once more on sure feet and suddenly the floor was racing to meet his face which he couldn’t correct in time. The mage waited for the inevitable rush of pain to his face, yet it never came; only the distinctive sound of a skull hitting the wooden floor, and it wasn’t his.

“You weren’t meant to pull me down with you.” Silvhen huffed out as he held his fore head, straddling the mage.

“Well- You were supposed to catch me.” Dorian complained as he noted the elf’s hand protecting the back of his head.

“Fenedhis lasa! Delavir shemlen, ar'm tel'din abelas.” Silvhen ranted as he lost Dorian in translations, still rubbing his bruising head.

“Talk to me like that any day.” Dorian admitted out loud, “Wait, what did you say?”

“ _Basically_ , I called you stupid, and that I’m not sorry.” Silvhen muttered defiantly, biting through the throbbing pain which began to dull.

The mage pouted, “It sounded much sexier in Elven. Why are you still sat on me?”

 “I have no idea. You’re comfy? Humans are squishy compared to elves which are bony. It’s… _different_. And Elven is sexy? Yeah, _right_.” Silvhen rushed through his drunken haze, prodding the mage’s ribs as if to prove his fact whilst muttering _clackety clack_.

“Please. Don’t. I don’t admit this often but I look ugly when I laugh.” The Altus stuttered as he was on the verge of laughter.

“Yeah, and I’m a dwarf.” Silvhen jested as he continued to poke Dorian.

“Well you are quite short, so I might believe you on that one.”

Silvhen glared at the mage beneath him, his nostrils flared and eyes narrowed in mock anger. He was merciless as he prodded and poked the mage, the sensation too much as Dorian erupted in laughter with a feigned attempt at escape.

“No p…please. S… stop… I said stop.” The last word came out more forceful than Dorian intended whilst the others were muttered been urges to laugh.

The Mage grew tired of the relentless torture and with a quick pull of his mana, he threw his weight over, flipping them and giving Dorian the upper hand as he restrained Silvhen’s wrists.

“Why can’t I move? Besides from the obvious.” The elf asked as he tried and failed to pry himself from the Altus’ grip.

“Because you wouldn’t stop fucking tickling me.” Dorian argued.

“But you’re cute when you laugh.”

“New born _Mabari’s_ are cute. _Fennec’s_ are cute. I am _far_ from _cu-_ ”

Dorian’s ramblings had perfectly distracted him from the force magic he was using to keep Silvhen pinned and the rogue wriggled a hand free without notice. Before he could overthink it and panic, the rogue leaned forward and caught the Mage off guard in a light kiss. One which tested and questioned.  

Silvhen laid back on the floor with his other hand still restrained and laughed at Dorian’s wide eyed expression, “So that’s how I shut you up, a quick kiss and you’re lost for words.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, Dorian was still unsure whether what had just happened was real or imagined. Yet he felt himself being pulled closer to the elf as their lips met once more, this time without the uncertainty and haziness from liquor. Their first kiss had managed to sober him entirely and he wasn’t letting a rare moment of happiness slip


End file.
